Saints and Soldiers Protect Us
by WritePassion
Summary: Michael Westen is a CIA agent in El Salvador. Lt. Commander Sam Axe's SEAL team is assigned to assist. Can they get past the nightmare of Kuwait and bring everyone home safe? A pre-Burn Notice story that takes place after "Chaos and Sandstorms." Chapter 10 updated 4/9/13.
1. Chapter 1

_After the positive response from "Chaos and Sandstorms", I decided to do another Michael/Sam pre-Burn Notice story. This takes place after Michael joins the CIA and Sam is still with the SEALs, but his team has been assisting the CIA with some of their operations. The two are called together to work on another mission, but will things work out this time? At least there are no sandstorms in Central America!_

**Saints and Soldiers Protect Us**

By WritePassion

Lieutenant Commander Sam Axe was ready for his next mission. He'd just taken a shower and cleaned up after a secret junket into the jungles of El Salvador and barely made it back with all his men. Some of them were more banged up than others, but his team was tough and they got the job done without losing a man or an asset. The other guys came out a lot worse. When people used the cliché that the river ran red with blood, this time it was true. Sam didn't like killing, but it was part of the job, and if it was his life or an enemy's, there was no contest. The other guy was going down.

The Salvadoran weather, however, was an adversary that no one could beat without a good air conditioner. The hotel where he was staying kept him in cool comfort, so when he emerged freshly showered, shaved, and wearing clean civilian clothes for a night on the town, the humidity slapped him across the face like one of the bar girls after he'd given them one of his bad pickup lines in butchered Spanish.

"Lieutenant Axe, long time no see."

Sam turned, wary, and in the waning light saw the face he recognized from several years ago. It was the face of a friend who saved his life. Grinning, Sam responded. "Westen!" He moved to meet him and they shook hands, hesitated, and each one reached for the other. "Imagine finding you here, Mikey."

"I knew you'd be here, Sam. I just didn't expect to run into you so soon." Michael embraced Sam and slapped his back, and Sam did the same.

In his ear, Sam muttered, "I didn't know that Special Forces was in the area."

"If they were, you think they'd let the SEALs know?" Michael laughed and parted from him.

"Probably not," Sam replied with a smirk. "Hey, I was just heading out to a little cantina round the block. Wanna join me? The senoritas there are breathtaking."

"Well..." Michael hedged, glancing behind him for a moment.

"It's okay, if you've got something else going on, I understand. That just means more beer for me and my guys." Sam laughed.

Michael turned back to his friend and smiled. "No, it's okay, Sam. I'd be happy to join you. We've got a lot of catching up to do."

"Damn straight. Let's go!" Sam threw an arm around Michael's shoulders and steered him down the street. At the corner they turned right, and a half block down was an open-air cantina with bright, happy music provided by a live guitarist and a female singer accompanying his crisp baritone. As the day turned into night, the warm lights cast a honey glow over the tables and the people sitting around enjoying the evening and the entertainment.

After Sam and Michael were settled at a table with a couple beers, Michael leaned closer and told him, "I'm not with Special Forces anymore."

"You're not? You quit the Army?"

Michael shook his head. "Sort of. I've gone into something more... secretive."

Sam didn't say it aloud, but his lips moved, saying, "CIA?"

He didn't answer, but Michael's slight nod was answer enough.

"Are you sure you want to climb into that bed," Sam asked before he took a swig of his beer.

"You should ask, when your team is supporting me tomorrow," Michael muttered behind his beer bottle as he raised it to take a drink. "Seems like you SEALs are getting pretty cozy with the Agency lately."

"That doesn't make us Feds," Sam murmured in reply. He took an even larger swig, draining his beer, and raised the empty to signal the waitress to bring more. She returned with two bottles and a wide grin. "Gracias, bonita. Gracias." He pulled out some cash and gave it to her, holding onto her hand a little longer than necessary. She giggled, slipped out of his grip and hurried away, her skirt swaying in a flirtatious gesture as she waited on other customers. "Didn't I tell you the ladies here were hot?"

"You were right about that." Michael glanced around the cantina and observed the other patrons as if he expected someone to come pouncing out of the woodwork at him.

Sam tapped his arm, and Michael's head swiveled to face him. "Is everything okay, Mikey? You seem kinda jumpy."

"Got a lot on my mind, I guess."

"You have your orders already?" Sam asked and watched the tight as a wound up spring reaction.

"I can't talk about it here. It's not secure." He finished his first beer and eyed Sam's second. He was already half way through it. "You might wanna lay off a little there, Sam. I don't want anyone who's half off his game..."

"Relax, buddy. Three's my limit on a school night, so no worries." He glanced around. "The guys were supposed to meet me here, but maybe they got sidetracked by some other beautiful girls at the restaurant." Sam winked. "You know this town is crawling with 'em. The chicks and the air conditioned hotel are the only thing worth sticking around for. Oh yeah, and the margaritas, if you're so inclined."

Michael laughed, and for once in a long time, he relaxed. He should have known Sam better than that. In all the time they'd been friends, the man had a penchant for drinking when not on the job. Sam liked to have fun and let loose, unlike Michael, who always seemed to be on alert. Maybe that was why they remained friends since that week they spent in the sandstorm and Michael dragged Sam's sorry butt out of it. Sam always had a knack for getting him to settle down and have a little fun, and Michael always kept it in the back of Sam's mind that he wasn't just there for recreation.

"So, what have you been up to, besides sampling the local brew and women," Michael asked as he leaned back in his chair so he and Sam's heads were only a few inches apart. The guitarist had been joined by others, and the mariachi band was in full swing. The music served as an adequate cover for catching up and keeping things on the down-low.

"Since I last saw you in Poland?"

"Yeah." Michael reached for his second beer. The bottle sweated in the warm air, and he gripped it tighter to avoid losing it.

"One mission after another. You know how that goes," Sam answered. "Got a couple more war wounds..." He set his bottle on the table and waggled the fingers on his left hand. His wedding ring was conspicuously absent. "Amanda and I are through. I caught her warming the sheets with my best friend Mack, again, after she told me that was over." He picked up his bottle and drained it. "If that isn't a sign, I don't know what is."

"Sorry to hear that, Sam."

"Yeah, well, she couldn't handle me being gone all the time, and I can't say I blame her." He waved the bottle in the air, and the waitress brought him a third. He took it and said, "No mas." He tapped the empty and set it on her tray. "No mas." She nodded and took his money, and walked away. "Did you want another one, Mike?"

"No, Sam, I'm good. Thanks."

"I didn't think you would." He took a drink as if it might jog his memory of where he was in the conversation. "So, anyway, I'm sort of a free man. Amanda said the next time I was home she'd have some papers waiting for me, and it would be all over. Done." He fell silent and the two listened to the band for a little while.

"I heard you're getting promoted," Michael said with a genuine smile. "Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander."

Sam's face beamed with a semi-conscientious smile. "Thanks, Mike. It's not like I did anything spectacular to earn it."

"Yeah, right. That's not how I hear it. You proved yourself on several missions, taking over command when part of your team got separated from the others, and when you lost your commander on that one in Bulgaria..."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I was just doing what I was supposed to do. With a little Michael Westen thinking outside the box thrown in for good measure." He grinned and clinked his bottle with Michael's. "I'm really looking forward to working with you again, Mike. You're always so by the book, until you get into a bind and have to figure out a way to skirt around the lines to get a job done."

Michael smiled, his cheeks feeling the heat of his own self-consciousness. How often had his dimensional thinking gotten him into trouble in Special Forces, when his commanders wanted everything by the book? Joining the CIA was a God-send for him. He was getting restless working under the bonds of regulation. As an agent, he had carte blanche to do whatever it took to get the job done, and he did it well. Working with a SEAL who appreciated his creativity was like a cherry on top of this assignment.

"I'm looking forward to it too, Sam." He glanced at his watch. "But if we're going to get a move on at oh nine hundred, we better get to bed soon."

"Aw, Ma, do I have to," Sam whined, followed by a peal of laughter. "Ah well, I'm done anyway." He slammed his empty bottle onto the table and pushed out of his chair. At first he seemed a little unsteady on his feet, but he recovered.

"I'll walk you back to your hotel, Sam."

"Thanks, Mom." He chuckled.

Michael was glad that the hotel was just around the corner. Sam was usually a boisterous guy, but with a few beers in him, he was even more friendly. Several times Michael had to steer him away from a pretty woman or some other distraction and keep him on the path to the hotel. Once inside, he made sure his friend was in his room before he left, and as he trotted down the steps to the sidewalk he kept a cautious eye on the shadows. He felt as if someone had been following them. It was probably his imagination, or a byproduct of knowing what this mission was about. He couldn't tell Sam the whole story, and even after he and his team was briefed, they still wouldn't know everything.

It killed Michael a little inside to be deceptive by not divulging all the information, but that knowledge could get them killed. In the Agency, sometimes it was better to leave the backup assistance slightly in the dark. His trainer, Tom Card, said it was for their own good, but that didn't make Michael feel any better about it. He returned to his hotel and hoped that he could bury the guilt enough to get a good night's rest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The sun woke him before the concierge, and Michael bounced out of bed eager to get to the mission and complete it. He didn't like drug cartels and the things they did to honest citizens. He liked it even less when children got in the middle. The details of the mission swirled in his mind, stirring his insides while he dressed and prepared to tackle the jungle, a mountain, and the target in that order. He was assured that the assignment would take only a day or two with the SEALs helping, but Michael knew better. Always tack on another day or so just to make it more realistic. He thought of Sam and smiled. The only other person he worked with who could rival his intensity on a mission was Sam, even though the guy managed to bring a little comedic relief now and then. Between the two of them, they'd stay on schedule.

Michael felt Sam truly deserved his bump up in rank. He wasn't a great leader, but he had charisma and character, and people gravitated toward that. Glancing at his watch, Michael realized that he was running a bit late, which was so unlike him. Better hurry, before I'm five minutes tardy and Sam calls out a search party. He chuckled under his breath and saw the smile in the mirror. He'd never had a friend like Sam before or since, and he never would have if it hadn't been for a botched mission and a sandstorm. God help us, don't let us get into trouble today. At least there were no sandstorms in the jungle, but there were plenty of other obstacles and traps.

As he approached the hotel where Sam was staying, he was more than a little surprised to see his friend standing alone on the curb next to a Humvee. He was even more surprised to see Sam wearing his standard issue party wear, a faded green Hawaiian shirt and khaki fatigue pants with utility pockets. Michael came wearing his camouflage, which in the colorful environment made him stand out. People glanced at him, scowling, remembering the days when men like him ran rampant through the streets killing and maiming. The olive green uniform was not welcome.

"Sam, what's going on," Michael asked as he stopped before him.

"Someone didn't get the memo," Sam cracked as he eyed Michael up and down. "We were told to dress like a bunch of tourists going on a jungle excursion. So that's what we're doing." Michael sighed and shook his head, and Sam blurted, "I'm sorry, Mike. Really, that's what we were told in this communique I received this morning."

"Let me see that." Michael almost ripped it from Sam's hand and scanned the document. It bore the official seal of the United States Navy, was type-written and formatted correctly, and the signature at the bottom looked legit. His shoulders dropped and he handed it back to Sam.

"Sorry, brother. But hey, don't worry, we brought some extra clothes." Sam grinned and opened the back door of the Humvee, rooted around in his gear, and soon came out with a light blue shirt with a more muted pattern. "It might be a little big on you, but go ahead, give it a shot."

With the big, expectant smile on his friend's face, Michael didn't have the heart to say no. He tossed his gear into the back of the Humvee and slipped his arms through Sam's shirt. It was big, but with the vest and everything else he wore underneath, it would be more than adequate. He looked at Sam and asked, "Well?"

"It looks great." Sam studied him a little longer, his lips pursed in thought. "I think it looks better on you than me, and that really sucks because it's one of my favorites! So don't ruin it, okay?" He pointed at him in emphasis.

Laughing, Michael replied, "I wouldn't dream of harming your shirt. Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime, Mike." He peered across the street, his eyes squinting down to slits. "Looks like the fellas are done outfitting us, so we're ready to go." He glanced at his watch. "Only ten minutes late, not too bad. We'll make up the time, easy peasy."

"I'm not worried about today as long as we find camp and get dug in before nightfall," Michael said. "You have the coordinates?"

"Oh yeah. Would it make you feel better if you do the honors and drive?"

"You're not..." Michael tilted his head as he asked, noting that Sam's eyes were clear and not bloodshot.

"Of course not! After you and I parted last night, I went right to bed. Alone." The disappointment in his voice couldn't be more evident, along with the hurt that Michael thought that Sam would continue on a bender the night before a mission.

Michael felt duly ashamed for thinking the worst. "I'm sorry. I know you better than that."

"Good. Glad we got that straightened out. So, you wanna drive or not?" He leaned in closer. "I'd take your driving over Lieutenant Meyer's any day. The roads up there aren't going to be smooth, and he'll take them like a race track. So please, do us all a favor and drive."

"Why don't you do it?"

"I'll be navigating and handling lookout," Sam replied.

Michael understood. Driving was tedious, but being an active passenger helped burn off some of that anticipation adrenaline. He suffered from the same syndrome, but for some reason he wasn't feeling it as keenly on this mission as he had on others. Perhaps it was Sam's company. He nodded. "Okay, I'll drive for awhile. Maybe one of the other guys can take over later. Or Meyer will settle down enough to get us there in one piece, once he sees how treacherous these roads are."

"I wouldn't bet on it, but we'll see."

The other four men in Sam's team arrived with packs of water and food, and they arranged everything in the back of the Humvee. Six would be a tight fit in the vehicle, but they managed with Meyer being awarded the thankless job of sitting in the cargo hold with the gear. Micheal smiled as he got into the driver's seat and he hoped that the vantage point would give the young officer a better idea of how dangerous the roads were, so when Michael turned the wheel over to him, he hoped that Meyer would treat them with the respect they deserved. He knew how to get them out of town, and Sam directed him to the rural road that led to the mountain.

Outside the city the roads were unpaved, mostly dirt and rocks, and often rutted from traffic and heavy rains washing away the soil. In some places the road was almost completely washed away, requiring Michael to hug the side of a rock wall to drive around the crater of earth that sank and slid down the hill.

"See anything," Michael asked Sam as he switched to another gear.

Sam held back a yawn as he replied. "Yeah, if you count a herd of goats, a few sheep, and an eagle flying circles over the sheep. Otherwise, it's been pretty boring."

Michael grinned. "Driving is a lot more exciting."

Sam laughed, but there was a tension in it that Michael recognized. It wasn't fear. He knew that much, because like himself, Sam was wound up and ready for the unexpected. As the miles slowly passed, his friend didn't talk much, but then Michael wasn't much for chatting either. He noted that the back seat was relatively quiet as well, with muffled conversations now and then sprinkled with a little laughter. Sam and his men were cut from the same cloth. Momentary distractions helped them cope with the rising tension, but they never lost focus on the mission and what they were expected to do.

It took all day to drive twenty miles through the jungle and up the mountain. They stopped only for short breaks and meals, but the men were anxious to get moving as soon as possible. The sun began to set as Michael came upon a small village consisting of a half dozen huts with thatched roofs and dirt floors. Cooking fires lit up the area, and the women who bent over them glanced at the newcomers. To his right, Sam checked his map and tapped the spot where they were.

"This is our stop for tonight, Mike. We're playing the American tourists looking for a place to crash. One of the guys will stay with the vehicle..."

"And we mingle with the locals," Michael finished. He got the same orders. "This should be interesting, considering your Spanish is pretty crappy, and mine... well, I don't know any Spanish, so..."

Sam chuckled. "Hewitt is fluent in the language, so if we just hang out with him as much as we can, we'll be all set."

"Okay. Sounds like a good plan." Michael breathed a silent sigh of relief. He parked the Humvee on a solid, open piece of land near a hut and the men got out, stretching their legs and loosening up after sitting so long. "Still, it might be to our advantage to play the dumb Americans who don't know the language. We could use Hewitt to spy on them. See if they know anything about what's going on with the neighbors up the mountain."

Sam fell into step beside Michael as he went to meet an older man who approached the group. "I'm with you on that, Mike. Want me to tell Hewitt?"

"Let's try to talk to this guy first," Michael said. He gave the man a friendly smile and said, "Hi."

The old man spouted off a streak of Spanish, and neither Michael nor Sam could pick out a word. The two looked at each other and shrugged.

"Sorry, we don't understand," Michael said.

"No comprende," Sam added.

The old man nodded, held up a finger, and turned away. He called out to a woman chasing a half naked toddler who squealed in delight. She caught him, inclined her head toward the old man and nodded when he spoke to her. She approached with a smile and the bundle of energy clung to her in fear of the strangers.

"Hello," she said. "My name is Lucinda. You two look like Americans."

"Uh, yeah, we are," Michael replied, shocked at the sound of the woman's English that bore no accent. "You, um, don't sound like you're from around here."

Lucinda grinned, her teeth picking up the glint of a fire nearby. "I'm not. I was born in California. I came here on a mission trip about ten years ago, and, well, I fell in love with the place and the people, and I never left." She muttered something to the child on her hip, but the boy pressed his fists to his eyes and snuggled closer into her shoulder. "You'll have to forgive my son, Benito. He's shy."

"Your son," Sam asked.

Lucinda's smile widened. "I married one of the villagers a couple years ago. Manuel is a good, hardworking man. He makes furniture and sells it down in the city below. As a matter of fact, he's on a trip there and should be back tomorrow." She sighed, a tone of contentment and pride in the sound. "So, what are you guys doing up here? We don't get many American visitors unless they're more missionaries."

"We're not missionaries," Michael said. "We're just a bunch of friends on a tour. We want to go up the mountain and check out the ruins we heard are up there, and..."

"No! No, you can't go up there," Lucinda warned, her eyes wide with fear. "There are bad men up there, with guns, like machine guns and stuff. They killed a mission team that went up there, and they sent down one of the bodies as proof. A second team went up after them trying to help an orphanage that is supposedly up there, but no one has heard from them since." In the dimming light, the men saw sorrow in her eyes. "They were a group of Sisters, nuns from St. Christopher's, a parish in Orange County." She paused to collect herself. "We tried to warn them, but they were adamant about going and helping the kids."

"No one has heard from them? How long ago did they go up," Sam asked.

"Six months ago, I think. It's so hard to keep track of time like that here," Lucinda replied. She hiked her son up on her hip. He was getting heavy. "I just know it was winter when they left the village. They stayed here a couple of days and took care of some of the sick, left some books for the kids, and then they continued their journey. They were eager to get to the orphans."

"Why would anyone build an orphanage way up in the mountains, away from people who could possibly adopt them," Michael asked, voicing his thoughts. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I know. That's why I don't believe there's really an orphanage," Lucinda said with conviction in her voice. Her eyes locked on Michael's as she continued, "I wanted to go and try to scout it out, to see the truth, but my husband won't let me. When he's gone, his brother Ricardo keeps an eye on me. I know it's for my safety and he loves me, but if there are children up there and they're being held by those bad men, wouldn't it be better to..." She cut herself off and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be talking about this with you."

"Why not? It's a legitimate concern if they're really up there and they need help." Sam spoke in a soft, smooth way he had that always worked on the ladies, and Michael knew him well enough to just step back and let his friend take over the conversation.

She gaped at Sam and asked, "You're just a bunch of guys up here for an adventure. What do you care?"

"We care more than you'd think. My friends and I have a soft spot for kids, and if it's true that there are a bunch on the mountain and they're in danger," Sam said and hesitated, glancing at Michael.

Michael nodded. "We want to help."

"Who are you people?" She peered at them in the growing darkness.

"Why don't we assemble around a fire and we can talk," Michael suggested. He glanced at Sam again and knew what his friend was thinking. They couldn't afford to blow their cover, but there was a way to keep their true mission secret and still put everyone at ease. In the morning they would continue upward and find out the truth. If it was as bad as Lucinda said, Michael suspected that he and Sam would be up late altering their plans for dealing with the cartel. Either way, it would be a battle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"We're not just up here to check out the sights," Michael confessed as soon as he and Sam took seats around the campfire with the other SEALs.

Lucinda sat across from them with Benito on her knee. He gnawed on a slice of banana and stared at the strange men. In the middle of the fire, a couple of freshly killed and plucked hens roasted on a spit, the aroma wafting up and around the group.

"I see. So what are you really here to do?" Lucinda's eyes were like lasers piercing Michael. Then the old man leaned closer to Lucinda and said something to her, and she translated. "Pedro says that you have weapons in the back of your vehicle. Weapons like the men up on the mountain are supposed to have." She shifted Benito on her lap and her eyes shifted from Michael to Sam and down the line from Meyer to Carson on the end of a long log bench. "Why? The people don't want any trouble. Some of them fled here during the civil war, and the cartels followed them. A lot of their friends and relatives died, so you can imagine how frightened they are of living here with those men above them."

"They don't come down at all, do they," Sam asked, shifting to lean his elbows on his knees.

"Not often. We have seen helicopters, like those big Army choppers, fly around the mountain and land up there."

"They've got a helopad. Interesting, that jibes with our intelligence," Sam muttered to Michael. Aloud, he said, "They're obviously getting supplies from the air so they don't have to come down."

"Do you think they might be harvesting drugs up there?" Lucinda turned her head and looked up into the dark sky sparkling with stars. With a hitch in her voice, she said, "Those kids. If they're really up at that place..."

"It's dangerous for them to be there, no doubt." Michael spoke with a soft, serious tone that got her attention, and the look in his eyes showed her that he felt empathy for her fear. "We'll check it out and see if any kids are there. Then we'll figure out how to free them." He sighed and glanced at Sam. "That's what we do."

"Yeah. We're like..." Sam tried to come up with a good story that didn't give away their true association.

The old man chattered and grinned, his smile checkered with empty spaces where his teeth used to be. Lucinda smiled and said, "Pedro says you're like avenging angels swooping in to rescue those children."

"How'd he know," Sam responded with a smile of his own. "That's exactly what we are!"

"Yeah. Who are you really? You have to belong to an organization or something." Lucinda was not convinced that they would do anything.

"We can't say." Michael spoke with no other explanation.

Lucinda met his eyes, and she nodded, understanding reflecting in her expression. "We won't tell. If anyone asks if you were here, we'll just say a few tourists came through but they got bored fast and left." She shrugged. "It happens often enough." She handed her son to the woman sitting next to her and moved forward to check on their meal. "Looks like these birds are ready to eat."

Lucinda served the guests first, filling their plates with roasted chicken, a corn meal mush formed into pancakes, and raw avocado slices. For dessert, fresh fruit. When the men took what was offered, but it wasn't easy watching the people stretch out the food to take care of everyone. Lucinda introduced them earlier as part of her husband's family, and she explained that they always ate together.

"You sure you've got enough," Lucinda asked with a smile. "There won't be any leftovers."

"We're good," Michael replied. "If not, we've got supplies."

"Oh yeah, I saw those cases of MREs in the back of your Humvee," Lucinda declared with a smirk. "Yumm."

"After this, you've certainly spoiled us," Sam told her with a wink and a smile. "This is great."

"Thanks." Under the firelight, she blushed and ducked her head. "It's not gourmet by any stretch of the imagination, but I do what I can."

"Simple is good. We appreciate it, ma'am." Lieutenant Carson praised her.

"Thank you." She stood up, collected their empty plates, and she took them away into the darkness with another woman.

"Anybody else here know English," Michael asked.

"Eh, se habla Englais?" Hewitt tried, and the others who still sat around the fire shook their heads.

"I find that odd, if Lucinda's been here a decade," Michael addressed Sam in a low volume. "Maybe they're playing us, curious to find out what we're about?"

"Could be." Sam yawned and stretched in a dramatic fashion. The hands on his watch glowed, and he saw that it was still early, but it was time for him and Michael to take the team somewhere to strategize for the next day. "I don't know about you but I'm getting kinda tired. We should set up some tents and get some shuteye."

"It's probably the altitude, Sir," Meyer suggested and faked a yawn.

"We'll need some light to set up," Seaver added as he stood and stretched.

"Oh, nonsense! You guys can stay in my family's hut tonight. Beni and I will stay with my in-laws." Lucinda invited with a warm smile as she came to the fire and heard the tail end of the conversation. She gestured with her hand. "Come on, Michael, Sam. Check out the accommodations, and if you think it's adequate, it's a done deal."

"You guys stay here," Sam said and he and Michael followed Lucinda to her home.

The small hut was on the edge of the village. It looked as big as an American one-car garage, and the structure was bisected into two parts. A small front room served as a living room of sorts. Two old couches formed an L-shape. In a pinch they would make decent beds. The next room held a narrow double bed and a metal cot with a thick mattress.

"We have some roll up mattresses to put on the floor in the living room," Lucinda said. "Ricardo and a couple of the cousins were living here for awhile until Ricardo got married, and the cousins decided to move to the city. Gerardo said the couches were quite comfy for sleeping." She smiled as if in apology for such meager offerings.

"This is perfect," Michael said. "Thanks, again. You're really going above and beyond here, Lucinda."

"It's my pleasure, Michael. I may no longer be on a mission trip, but I've learned in my life that the little things I do for people are like a ministry in themselves. It's being Jesus with skin on," she said before turning to a closet. She pulled out two mattresses and handed them to Michael and Sam. "Here are the mats, and I've got plenty of bedding. Although you probably won't want to cover up with much more than a sheet. It's really comfortable at night during this time of year."

Lucinda followed the men into the living area and dropped a pile of blankets, sheets, and pillows onto the couch.

"This is great. I'll go tell the guys we're staying here, and we'll secure the Humvee," Sam said as he moved toward the hut. "Goodnight, Lucinda. And thanks for everything."

She smiled, an emotion greater than happiness in the expression. "Thank you, guys. If you can do what you say you plan to do, to liberate those children we heard about, that will be a wonderful thing, greater than anything I can do to serve you."

Michael and Lucinda chatted while Sam stepped out into the night, greeted by the sound of tree frogs and other creatures in the thick forest all around them. A mosquito buzzed past his ear and he slapped at it. He glanced back at the hut, grateful to see that the windows had screens. The bed in the bedroom also had mosquito netting draped behind the headboard and could be drawn around the bed if necessary. He and Mike would have to flip for that luxury. The fire was dying, and only a few people remained with Hewitt and Carson.

"Where'd Meyer and Seaver go," Sam asked as he stood on the opposite side of the fire, hands on his hips, peering into the darkness behind the men. He heard the sound of doors slamming.

"They're locking up the Humvee, Sir," Hewitt replied.

"Great. Okay, we've got bunks for the night, so let's hit the sack. We're up and at 'em again at o-six-hundred." Sam acknowledged the few people still sitting by the fire. "Buenos noches." After the villagers chorused a Spanish good night, Sam and his men made their way to the hut. Before they arrived, he warned them, "It's not like the accommodations we had in town, but it's better than a tent."

"I hope so. We'd probably get carried away by these skeeters if we slept out here," Carson quipped and the others laughed. He stepped inside with his team and made a straight line for one of the couches. "Dibs."

The other three settled themselves on the couch and the floor, and Sam said, "Night, fellas." The latch on the screen door wouldn't do more than keep out the night critters, but with four of his guys in the room who were reliable when it came to waking up at the slightest sound, Sam felt safe. He stepped around Hewitt and moved into the bedroom. To his surprise, Michael had already chosen the cot and was curled up facing the wall.

"I was willing to flip for the bed," Sam said.

"No big deal, Sam. You take it."

Suddenly, he felt like his friend thought of him as an entitled prima donna just because he held a higher rank. "Really, Mike, I'm willing to flip for it, or arm wrestle, whatever."

Michael turned, a slight smile on his face. "What, you're willing to risk having to sleep on this thing?"

"Well, before we crash, we should talk about tomorrow first, but yeah, after that... I'm not that kind of guy, Mike, you know that."

The smile widened on Michael's face. "Alright. So let's talk about this." He got up from the cot and sat on the edge of the double bed opposite where Sam parked himself, and he pulled out some maps and satellite images of the area. "Here we are." He spread out the map between them and jabbed the village with his index finger. "We follow this road another fifteen miles, and if we're lucky with the road conditions, we might get there in the daylight. If not, we'll need to dig out the night vision and work with the darkness."

"You know I'd rather do that, Mikey. SEALs work best in the dark," Sam cracked a crooked grin.

Rolling his eyes at Sam's bad joke and not missing a beat, Michael continued. "These satellite images are about six months old, so who knows if things have changed up there. We don't have the benefit of doing a recon."

"Unless we wait a day, send a couple of the guys up through the jungle to stake out the place," Sam suggested as he traced a fine line that seemed to cut through the trees. "This looks like a trail. Perhaps in the morning we can get some info from one of the villagers and find out what this is. If it's a trail, we send a recon team up there, they check it out, come back and then we can reformulate a plan if necessary." He looked up and met Michael's eyes. "I'd be willing to lead that team."

"Sam, we don't know what kind of traps could be in this jungle."

Sam's eyes bored into Michael's and he knew what his CIA friend was really saying. Michael was worried about him beyond simple concern. He could see it in the slight twitch at the corner of his eye. Sam knew that Michael had recently lost an asset that he'd gotten close to, which was a big danger when you're a spy. At least when you're a SEAL, the missions are usually too fast and furious to get too close to anyone. The asset never has a chance to become an emotional liability to the team. As tough as Michael pretended to be, Sam knew he had a soft spot deep inside. He wanted to save everyone and the world at the same time, and it chipped away at his psyche when he couldn't do that. Aware of his friend's history and home life, Sam was smart enough to connect the dots. Michael just needed to be reminded now and then that what he was doing was good enough, better than good enough, and he had to let go and relinquish control occasionally. This was one of those times.

* * *

Sam woke with a gasp and sat up in bed. It was quiet, too quiet, until he remembered where he was and the remnants of a violent dream faded from his mind. A faint light trickled through the curtains, illuminating the room enough for him to realize that Michael wasn't in his bunk. Sam scrambled to the side of the bed, fought his way through the tent of mosquito netting, and stood on the wood floor almost completely dressed except for his shoes. It had been a warm evening that tempted him to disrobe down to his underwear, but with so many uncertainties out there in the night, he preferred to stay as battle ready as possible. He shook out his pants and grasped the edge of his rumpled shirt to straighten it and get some air circulation beneath it. Then he parted the curtains to look outside.

He knew he'd see the shadowy figure sitting on the front steps. Sam's mouth tipped up at the corner and he moved away from the window, tiptoed past his team in the other room and with care opened the squeaky screen door.

"Oh, Sam," Michael's voice sounded rough and full of sleepiness. "Did I wake you?"

"Nah. Old battles do that to me," Sam replied as he settled on the steps next to his friend and set his shoes on the bottom step. "It'll be daylight in a couple hours, and we did go to bed pretty early even with the planning session, so don't worry about it. I'm rarin' to go."

"I've been up for awhile thinking about this plan."

"What, is the recon idea bothering you that much?" Sam stared at him. "Mike, what's going on? This light isn't the greatest, but you look like you didn't get much, if any, sleep."

Michael shrugged. "I think I got a few hours. I've been up for a couple, that much I know." His head, with his chin resting on his fists, swiveled in a slow and easy manner as he scanned the open area and the road that passed the hut, but his body was tense.

"I know what happened on that last mission." Sam found Michael's eyes locked on him. "My commander didn't want us going into this without me knowing. He's aware that you and I are friends, so he probably figured he wasn't telling me something I didn't already know." He let out a sigh, and his eyes held nothing but pity for his friend. "After our last conversation, and what the chief told me, I suspected you'd be kind of messed up."

"I'm not messed up, Sam," Michael denied with a hard edge to his voice. "I just need... gah, I don't know what I need." He dropped his head into hands that pressed against the sides of his face.

"You need some time away from the Crazy Intelligence Agency, that's what you need." Sam slapped a hand on Michael's back and squeezed his shoulder. "Jeez, you really are tense! Do me a favor and turn."

"What? Oh come on, Sam, I don't need that," Michael denied again, although his arguments would have been flimsy at best.

"Hey, these hands have been approved by every lady whose gotten a back rub from me, so trust me, pal, I know what I'm doing."

Despite himself, Michael laughed, keeping it soft enough to not awaken the men inside the hut. "Alright, if it'll make you feel better, go to it." He turned on the step until his legs dangled off the edge. It was a precarious position because the plank on which he sat was narrow, but he balanced himself and sat up straight to allow Sam to do his work.

"Come on, relax, Mikey. This isn't gonna hurt a bit."

As Sam worked his magic with his hands, Michael resisted at first. But there was a mental tango of wills going on, and Michael realized that Sam wouldn't quit until his bent first. He was only humoring his friend, so he let down his guard and focused on the pushing and manipulating Sam was doing to his shoulders and upper back. After a short while, he began to relax. Okay, so maybe Sam was right, he knew what he was doing. As the moon slipped over the mountains and the first fingers of dawn painted the wispy clouds above, Michael felt the tension dribble from his head down to his backside. He imagined it flowing away down the stairs into the small ditch alongside the road.

"Okay, Mikey," Sam patted his back. "How'd that feel?"

Michael turned to his friend and leaned against the hut wall with a look of peace and contentment on his face. "You were right. I needed that." He yawned. "That was too relaxing. Now I wanna go back to bed and sleep, but it'll be daylight soon." He flicked his wrist and glanced at his watch. "Yeah, in another hour and a half, it'll be time to get moving."

"Well, don't worry about that. Meyer, Carson, and I will do the recon, and..."

"No, Sam. I can do this." Michael stared at him as if daring Sam to defy him.

"We already discussed this. I'm going, Mike." Sam's expression held as much stubbornness as Michael's. "I've spent more time in these jungles lately. I know what's inside them. I'm going, and you stay here with Hewitt and Seaver, and maybe Hewitt can get talking with the villagers and find out if anyone knows more about this compound on the mountain."

Michael could see that this would end in a draw, and Sam would just do what they originally planned anyway. He sighed, closed his eyes, and tapped his head against the wall once, leaving it there as he opened his eyes again and focused on Sam. "I need this, Sam. I need a successful mission."

"You'll get it when we figure out what we're really up against," Sam assured him. "It may turn out that we don't have enough guys, and we won't know that for sure without a recon."

"No, you don't understand. You don't know everything that happened on my last mission." Michael moved away from the wall, and leaning an elbow on one knee, he closed the distance between them. In a low voice, he said, "It was all in the recon. Every failure. I can't let that happen again."

Sam pulled back and stared at him, incredulous. "You think I'm gonna screw this up?"

"No! No, I didn't mean it that way." Michael's brow crinkled and he dropped his forehead to his arm. He raised it and said, "I just feel better doing it myself."

"Myself as in solo, no backup, or alone as in you take the team up?" Sam looked at him with an expression that said he was starting to question his friend's judgment.

"I'll take Meyer and Carson with me. Sam, please, I can't explain it. I just have to do this." His eyes pled his case when words failed him.

Sam mulled over the idea. It really didn't matter in the grand scheme of things which one of them led the group. Sam trusted Michael implicitly and knew that he would do a thorough job of the recon. What troubled him was the voracious desire to take on this task, as if his life depended upon it. He couldn't understand that, and he wondered what happened on the last mission to make Michael so adamant. Sam knew most of what was in the official report, but it was the things that were off limits to him that caused him anxiety. Yet he trusted Michael enough to see that a simple recon could be all that it would take to get him back in the game completely.

"Okay," Sam relented. "You take the point on this one. Just make sure you keep in touch."

A smile of relief and gratefulness crossed Michael's face in the growing dawn. "Thanks, Sam. You know I won't let you down."

"Of course not. I know what you're capable of, Mikey. Just be careful up there."

The two fell into conversation about the preparations for the climb, keeping it low until 0530 when they heard the rustling of the team coming to life inside the hut. Until Michael left, the biggest threat they faced was to become one huge mosquito bite. The bug repellant was wearing off of their skin, and the buggers came ready to feast.

Michael took a pack with guns and ammunition, and Meyer and Carson did the same. The three stood at the back of the Humvee taking stock of their gear, and Michael grabbed a rope and slung it over his shoulder. He spied Sam watching his every move, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, but he didn't need to see them to know that concern flooded them. He gave Sam one of his reassuring smiles and slammed the back door on the Humvee.

"Okay, we're ready to go." He and the men were dressed in fatigues that matched the jungle vegetation and wore boots with good traction. He held up the radio and clipped it to his belt. "We'll keep in contact with you, Sam."

"Take care out there, Mikey." He tossed him a tube of bug repellent. "Hauling me out of a sandstorm will be a piece of cake compared to having to haul your butt out of a jungle. Don't make me have to do that."

Michael broke into a grin and a chuckle. "Trust me, I'll do my best." He grasped Sam's hand, squeezed, and released it before he passed him and hiked to the path that would, according to the locals, take them up to the compound.

Lucinda joined Sam and watched Michael and the two SEALs walk away from the village. "They'll be safe."

Sam turned to her with doubt in his eyes as he looked over the sunglasses at her. "How do you know?"

"I noticed that Danny, the one you call Meyer, he was wearing a St. Michael's medal, the patron saint of warriors. Eric Carson doesn't have one, but I heard him down by the creek this morning as he was preparing for this mission." She smiled. "I joined him for a little prayer time."

"That's all it takes, huh?"

"Well, you know Sam that there arent just good and evil men on this earth, but there's a spiritual warfare going on all the time. We just can't see it. The best we can do is make sure we're on the right side and trust that God's got our back." She patted his arm and carried Benito to the morning cooking fire.

"Sorry, Lucy, but I'd rather believe that might and firepower are key to defeating the other guys." She didn't hear him, and he didn't expect her to turn back and counter his lack of faith. He sighed and watched Michael disappear into the lush green trees and scrub, and for a moment his fear for his friend was outweighed by something else. He glanced up at the sky and murmured, "I hope she's right."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"According to the villagers, if we take this path, it will get us up to the cartel a lot faster if we travel on the road," Michael told Meyer and Carson as they approached the brush. A distinct but narrow clearing led the men to the rocky dirt path.

"It looks like it's almost straight up," Meyer declared from his position to Michael's left. He stood staring upward through the trees until the path seemed to disappear. A mosquito dared to get close, and he swatted it out of existence. "Think we'll need more ropes, Sir?"

Michael shook his head. "Lucinda said that the few villagers who have travelled this way say it looks more dangerous than it is. I'm taking that to mean it's not so steep. Let's go."

"You put a lot of stock in those villagers, Sir," Carson said as he followed Michael. "What if they're playin' some kinda trick on us?"

"That's what I was thinking," Meyer chimed in. "That woman, Lucinda, could be telling us whatever she wants to just to get us out of their village."

Michael stopped and turned to face them, his face stony as he replied. "If I didn't have Hewitt backing up everything, we wouldn't be doing this. You want to doubt your fellow team member?"

"No. Sorry, Sir. Guess we're a little too... careful... sometimes," Carson said.

Michael's expression changed to one of understanding. "Can't say I blame you guys. But I've been in this business enough to know that you can't believe the first thing you hear unless it's backed up by someone or something else. Hewitt vetted the conversation around the campfire last night, so I'm convinced that no one in that village wants us to fail. As a matter of fact, the concern they have for any kids that might be up there was pretty obvious. So let's stop wasting time and get moving." He turned and started walking the path, and the two SEAL team members followed.

None of them spoke a word, and they stopped only for short breaks. The trail was almost straight, with meanderings now and then around trees or a pile of dead brush. Animal tracks showed in the moist dirt here and there, criss-crossing the trail or following it for a time. The sun turned the leaves above into spots of green-gold, the shade a welcome relief against the blazing rays. Even so, the air was humid, causing perspiration to break out on their skin, which attracted the mosquitos and bugs.

During one break to reapply bug repellant, the men heard a rustling in the underbrush. Everyone pulled a weapon and trained it on the source until a small rodent stuck its furry nose out from under some dead leaves. It spied the intruders and ducked back inside its camouflage.

"Just a dumb rat," Meyer muttered.

"We're almost to the top," Michael announced after hiking a few hundred yards ahead and returning. "The path hits a plateau up there, and goes around the mountain, just like the old man said. The cartel isn't much farther away after we round that bend."

"Good. But what kind of cover will we have," Carson asked. "We're not going to be out in plain sight, are we?"

"I'm hoping not," Michael replied. He picked up the gear he set down to put on the lotion. "It's almost seventeen hundred hours. I'm hoping we can do a little recon inside the compound before these guys take a dinner break. Otherwise, we'll see if we can get a bird's eye view from somewhere."

"Sounds like a good plan," Carson agreed.

"Before we move, I want to check in with Lieutenant Commander Axe." Michael unsnapped the radio from his belt and depressed the broadcast button. "Alpha, this is Beta, can you read me?"

The reply came with a lot of static, but Sam's voice could be heard as he replied, "Beta, this is Alpha. You're kind of scratchy, but I read you."

"Affirmative. You're not so clear yourself," Michael countered and held back a smile. "Nearing the nest, just wanted to check in on our progress."

"You made good time. Hurry up and you might make a late supper," Sam came back.

"We'll see. Beta out."

"Be careful, Beta. We'll keep dinner on for ya."

"Thanks, Alpha. See you soon." Michael put the radio away and spoke to his team. "Alright, let's proceed with caution."

Michael wasn't much of a conversationalist unless he had to be, and when it came to a mission like this, he could clam up and not say a word for hours. On the journey up the mountain, Carson and Meyer had kept up a running banter, soft but ever-present. Their chatter annoyed Michael, but he understood that some men worked out their tension through talking. As long as they didn't give away their position, he was fine with it. He knew that SEALs were trained to be on alert at all times, and despite the earlier easiness, their eyes kept roving the jungle around them in search of trouble. Now, both men felt the closeness of their target and put on their game faces and ceased talking, and Michael noticed the change in their stances and the way they carried themselves through the brush. They were on and ready for resistance.

As the three rounded a curve, the path leveled off and brought them to where it disappeared, ending abruptly at a large patch of manicured lawn. Keeping themselves hidden by the bush, Michael spied the area ahead of them. The land was flat and seemed to drop off into blue sky. At the edge sat a dirt helopad with bright orange markings for a daylight landing. A windsock fluttered in the breeze, indicating from which direction the wind blew. Closer to the path, to the left stood a modern yet simple house three times the size of Lucinda's hut. To the right, almost out of view, stood two shacks on crumbling foundations. They looked much older and unkempt, as if the owners didn't care if they fell down around the occupants. A canopied area covered several long tables with benches and a stone cooking area stood at one end of the shelter.

No one seemed to be about, so Michael slipped out of their cover and took large steps as he hurried to the first building. Carson and Meyer followed, covering him. If he stood, Michael could see through the windows. At least someone installed screens on them to keep out the bugs. He peered over the sill and looked inside for a moment, then ducked down and reported what he'd seen.

In a low voice he spoke. "Looks like a school. There were eight desks, in front of a table and chair, but I didn't see any learning materials. Or any students."

"Maybe school is out for the day," Carson suggested. "Sir, do you think this is really an orphanage? I never heard of one with a helopad."

"I don't know what to think. Let's check out that other building, and then try to get to the house and see if anyone is around." Michael trotted to the next building, watching as he slipped into the line of sight with the house for a few seconds before becoming obscured by the other shack.

Michael heard voices. He turned and held up his hands, pantomiming for the two SEALs to stay where they were. They came up short of the corner and nodded, guns at the ready, waiting for the signal to proceed. If the situation had been less serious, he would have thought about how pleased he was with their performance. He shouldn't have been surprised, especially since they were under Sam's command. Alone, he slid alongside the clapboard siding and listened, but he didn't hear the voices anymore. With caution he peered into one window. He saw three sets of bunks arranged in rows along the far wall. Another wall held pegs, and shirts and pants of various sizes hung on them. They were small, kid sized. He repeated his reconnaissance at the next window and saw the same number of bunks with pegs on the walls, only these held girls' dresses. Many of them were well worn, but they appeared to be clean.

He waved to Carson and Meyer, and the two joined him at the corner. "What did you see, Sir," Carson asked.

"Looks like a dormitory, one side for boys, the other for girls," Michael replied, biting back the emotion he felt bubbling up inside him. "But no kids anywhere."

"Maybe there's another building somewhere where they're at," Meyer said.

"I heard some talking, and that's why I held you back. It didn't sound like kids, though. So we know there are at least two adults around here somewhere."

The team found another path into the jungle, only this one was much wider and more worn. It was more like a road. They followed it with cautious moves, keeping an eye on the surroundings and what was up ahead. Sounds filtered through the trees, gaining volume as the three neared another turn in the path. A break in the leaves gave them a good look at the scene below. A long building made of corrugated metal stood on a plot of land, and a generator outside the building masked any noise that Michael and his men might have made as they approached it. No one was around outside. Inside, however, a dozen guards watched over children as they worked, resting their forearms on automatic weapons strung around their necks.

Michael held his breath when he saw that the children, who all wore masks, were packaging cocaine into smaller, more easily transported bricks. One child stopped working, holding her hand with the other and massaging it. One of the men yelled at her in Spanish, and with the whites of her eyes showing her fear, the little girl went back to her task with pain on her face.

A sound come from Carson, like a low grumbled curse, and Michael turned his head enough to see the younger man's hands gripping and loosening on his rifle. He thought it was nerves until he caught sight of the dark anger on his face. Michael laid a steadying hand on his sleeve. Carson's blue eyes were stormy when they locked onto Michael's.

"Easy, Carson. We're just here to look, remember," Michael warned in a soft tone.

"Those kids... they're being treated like slaves, and we're just gonna stand here and let it happen?"

"No. We're getting out of here once we know their strength, and we'll take care of them later and rescue the kids." Michael's voice was reduced to a whisper. "I promise." He skirted around Carson and started walking back the way they came. Over his shoulder, he saw the two men watching him. With a scowl he beckoned them to come, and the men's shoulders drooped in resignation. They had no choice but to obey the man who at that moment was their commanding officer, even if he was CIA.

Getting back to the path would be easy if everyone in the cartel was down in the field. Michael counted a dozen men, not too many for their team of six if they were to have surprise on their side. When he and the men ran across the back of the property, he counted three more hanging around the house, and he saw a few women. The group drank cocktails and music wafted across the compound. All of them were dressed far better than the children. Michael could see the opening into the jungle, and he took a moment to stop behind one building and report to Sam.

"Alpha, this is Beta. Found the target, minimum of fifteen men, five women, sixteen kids. Returning to base."

"Copy, Beta. We'll be waiting for you."

"Alpha, positive on drugs. The kids were packing cocaine."

"Dammit."

"Uhoh, gotta run." Michael set the radio into its cradle and said, "They saw us! Run for the jungle!"

Guards ran toward them, shooting and kicking up pits in the grass as the trail of bullets moved in closer to the fleeing men. Michael ran half turned toward them, covering the others and returning fire. Carson fell in beside him and joined the return volley. Meyer brought up the rear doing the same. Michael heard a shriek and his head snapped around to see Meyer fall face first into the lawn. He didn't move, and one of the guards headed straight for him.

"Move!" Michael pushed Carson toward the entrance to the jungle, but he turned and ran to Meyer's side. He didn't have time to see if he was alive. Michael grabbed his arm, hauled him up into his arms, and hefted him over his shoulder. A bullet whizzed past and another came in quick succession, not far from his head. He whirled and trotted to his only hope of escape.

A round hit him hard in the back, but his vest stopped it from penetrating. The force of it, plus the momentum of running was enough to send him tripping down the path. The weight of the man on his shoulder didn't help, and Michael hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of him. He gasped, unable to breathe. His mind screamed at him to get away while his lungs fought to catch some air. Above him, he saw blotches of color that grew more out of focus by the second. Voices barked at him in a language he didn't know, and it was all too much for his body to take at one time. Despite his will and best efforts, Michael lost consciousness.

* * *

When Michael awoke, he didn't expect to find himself in a nicely furnished study. He lay on a lounger, and he took care to sit up. The room swam a little in the low light from a couple of electric lamps. He glanced at another figure to his right. Carson sat in a leather wing chair, bound and gagged, fighting against the ropes that held him tight. Meyer lay on the floor on a sheet that bore blood stains. Michael stood and tried to move to the other man's side to check on him, but he found that he was also bound. The gag, however, was missing. Maybe his captors were afraid he would stop breathing if they gagged him, since he'd had so much trouble before he passed out. No matter. The important thing was seeing if Meyer was okay.

It took some work, but Michael fought the residual dizziness and hopped over to Meyer, dropped to his knees, and used his nose to touch Meyer's carotid. He heard breath sounds and there was a pulse, so Michael hoped that he wasn't injured too badly. He wondered what Sam would think about this little turn of events. He saw a clock on the wall and realized that almost six hours had passed since he contacted Sam. He wouldn't really start to worry, knowing that it took almost that long for them to get to the cartel's hideout. But in another three hours, he could just imagine how his friend would react when they didn't return.

Michael hadn't done a lot of praying lately, and he hoped that wouldn't count against him as he looked up toward the ceiling and muttered, "Let this work out okay for us. Let us get away safely before Sam has to come for us." He didn't get an answer, and he didn't exactly feel at peace, but he felt that he'd done all he could and his only option at that point was to go back where he awoke. Wait for help to arrive, or a means of escape. Until then, rest. If Michael had been more aware of himself, he would have been shocked at how easily he slipped back into the murky world between conscious and unconscious.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Almost eight hours had passed since Michael's last transmission. The sun had long disappeared, the big bugs and night creatures were about, and the people had gone to bed. Only Sam, Hewitt, and Seaver sat around the fire. The SEALs were all armed. No one had to say it, because they all knew that something must have gone wrong. Sam poked at the red hot coals with a stick and fought the creepy crawly sensation in his stomach. At every sound that came from the direction of the path, his head whipped around and he hoped to see his friend and his men returning. Every time, he suffered disappointment. Hewitt and Seaver could have gone to bed, but they stayed up with him, hoping for a miracle.

"Maybe they got lost in the dark, Sir," Seaver suggested, the tone of his voice less than confident.

"Nah. Westen's good with directions, and as long as they stay on the path, it's hard to do," Sam replied. He tapped the stick on the ground to put out a few sparks that clung to the end. "Most likely they were found by the cartel."

"Then we should go now and rescue them," Hewitt exclaimed, his glasses reflecting the firelight as he stared at Sam. "We've got darkness on our side, Sir. We should go and do what we were called here to do."

"It's too risky if we don't know the situation up there. We could go in with guns blazing and kill our own men," Sam argued. The stick tapped out a nervous pattern of frustration until he couldn't take it anymore. He tossed it into the fire and shot to his feet. His men followed, and he gazed at them. "Hey, it's okay fellas. Just sit down. I'm going to go walk off some of this energy and think. Stay here and keep watch."

Sam suspected that eventually the captors would send someone with a message, a demand for ransom, perhaps. That is, if the cartel didn't execute them outright. If that happened, no amount of waiting would change anything. Yet if there was a hope that Michael was still alive... He didn't want to sit around on his hands that long, but he didn't have much choice. Especially after he reported to his superiors about this wrinkle in the mission. He could still recall the anger on the other end of the satphone.

Commander Franklin bellowed, "How could this have happened, Axe? Westen is supposed to be good!"

"Sir, we may have underestimated the forces up there," Sam replied. He gave him the numbers Michael relayed to him. "I know that doesn't sound like a lot, Sir, but if these guys are leftovers from the old regime and had military training, they'll be a force to be reckoned with."

"I don't care. You should have all gone up there under cover of night and done the job based on the intelligence you were given."

"And we would all be captured now, Sir." Sam countered with a grim tone. "Intelligence said there were only eight guys up there under primitive conditions. Mike's report proves that wrong. God only knows what else he didn't see."

The silence hummed along the line for a few seconds. Then Franklin spoke. "You sit tight, Axe. We'll have reinforcements there in a day or so."

"A day or so. A lot can happen in that time, Sir." There was a lot more Sam wanted to say, but it was wiser to not piss off his commander.

"It'll take time to redirect a team to your location. Don't make me order you again, Lieutenant Commander Axe." The way Franklin emphasized Sam's rank made his veiled threat more than clear. If Sam disobeyed, his neck was on the proverbial chopping block. If he didn't die in the skirmish, he would lose his rank and career.

As he spent the time mulling over his meager options, Sam passed the hut that belonged to Lucinda's in-laws. He heard snoring through the open windows and envied the occupants their peaceful sleep. He had hoped that Lucy and her family wouldn't have to put up with the cramped quarters for more than a couple of nights, but with the way things were going, he and his men could be there awhile. A soft golden glow shining from inside the hut entrance grabbed his attention, and he approached to discover the cause.

Sam recognized Lucy kneeling on the rough wood floor with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and she shrunk into it with her head bowed and hands clasped. A fat candle sat on a small table in front of her, and it illuminated a crucifix on the wall. Lucy's already soft voice murmured in the dark and lonely night, but Sam had the impression that she wasn't alone. He rested a foot on the step, propping an elbow on his knee, and waited for an opportunity to let her know he was there without scaring her.

It didn't take long for him to realize that she was praying, and judging by the tightness of her fingers gripped together and the intensity of her rasping voice, she was pleading for her petitions to be answered favorably.

"Keep them safe… angels… St. Michael…."

Her words were so soft he could only pick up a few, but Sam heard enough to know that Lucy was pouring her heart out for his guys. His eyes stung and his heart warmed at her charitable act. His skin prickled as he felt a movement in the air. Suspicious, he looked around but he was alone outside the hut. A soft breeze ruffled his hair and the leaves, cooling the thin layer of perspiration on his bare arms. A chill ran up them, but it wasn't from the wind and it wasn't a feeling of dread. Something powerful was happening. His first instinct would have been alarm, but he felt an incredible sense of peace instead. He lost himself in the moment of pondering what might be causing this sensation, and when Lucy gasped, he blinked and came back to earth.

"Sam? What are you doing here," she asked as she rose from her knees and met him in the doorway. In the moonlight, her face lit up with excitement. "Did you hear from Michael and the others? Are they okay?"

Sam replied with an even tone, trying to keep the anger and frustration from his voice. The pleasant feeling he experienced moments earlier was gone like a dream. "No, I haven't heard anything, and my orders are to stay here until reinforcements arrive."

"Soldiers are coming?" Her dark eyes turned even darker. "You know how the people feel about soldiers…."

"Yes, but I promise you, it'll be okay. They're only coming to help us get our men back and hopefully take out the cartel in the process." Sam added with a reassuring smile. "Then the village will be safe."

Lucy nodded and stepped outside. Sam backed off and she passed him on the steps, and he made note of the fact that she still wore the shawl and tugged it closer around herself, even though it was a warm evening. "I was praying when you came here. You may not understand this, but I too am a warrior. It's just that I don't use guns." She smiled and held up her hands and folded them. "I have other weapons."

Sam laughed, his skepticism showing as he walked beside her. "Yeah, I saw how well that worked before Mike and my guys went up to the compound."

Lucy responded with surprising confidence. "At least they're not dead."

"How do you know that?" Sam stopped and glared at her.

Finding herself on the spot, she answered him with a serene voice that belied her inner struggle to convince him. "I can't explain it. I just know."

"That's not good enough." He reached out, grasped her upper arm and said, "You better not be playing some kind of game here, sister. If you have any intelligence on that cartel and what's going on up there, spill it now or my wrath'll be the least of your problems when the other team arrives."

"Sam, please, you're hurting me," Lucy pleaded as she tried to twist out of his grip. "I don't know anything, other than what I've been told."

"Told by whom?" His brows knit, showing his confusion.

Lucy relaxed and her eyes lifted toward the sky. "I told you. I have a gift… which I don't brag about…" Her eyes locked on his as she continued. "God allows me to discern things, and he tells me things."

"Oh please, don't give me that," Sam exclaimed and pushed her away as he stepped back to put some distance between them, as if she had some kind of disease that he wanted to avoid contracting.

"It's true. It's not up to me to …" Lucy returned her gaze to him and flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder. "Well, all I can do is be a witness. It's on your shoulders whether or not you choose to believe."

"You'll have to excuse me. I have an easier time believing something I can see or experience, and one thing I'm not seeing is someone rescuing my people based on your prayers." He tried to keep his voice low, but he let his anxiety get the better of him. Sam shook his head. "This is a pointless conversation."

"Maybe. All I can say is…."

A rustling in the jungle interrupted her along with Sam's shushing. He placed himself between her and the sound, raising his side arm in preparation for whatever might come out at them. "What do you see out there, Lucy?"

"Are you mocking me," she exclaimed as she peered around him. "I don't see a thing."

Before Sam could respond, fronds parted and a small child came out of the jungle. He was barefooted and dressed in raggedy clothing, but he looked clean enough, at least in the moonlight. His eyes locked on the two, and he froze. Lucy came to her senses first and spoke to him in Spanish. He replied and came forward, holding out a piece of folded paper.

Lucy took it and said, "He says this is for the American gringos."

"That's me." Sam pulled it from her grasp and opened it. "Crap, I think it's in Spanish."

"Lucky for you I can translate," Lucy shot back and took the paper from him. "Do you have a light?"

"Yeah." Sam unclipped a small flashlight from his gear belt and turned its beam onto the paper.

"Ohh, should I just paraphrase? They use a lot of insulting language in their note," Lucy informed him.

"Just give me the details," Sam barked. His patience was wearing thin.

"Okay. It says that they have three men. One of them has been shot, and is still alive, but if the cartel's demands are not met, he won't be for long." She turned her gaze on Sam. "They want a ransom of two million dollars apiece before sundown tomorrow, or they all die."

"Great. Just freakin' great." Sam turned on his heel and hurried down the road to Lucy's house. He barreled inside, grabbed the satphone, and called his commander.

A sleepy voice answered the phone. "Hello, Franklin residence."

"Is Commander Franklin there? This is Lieutenant Commander Sam Axe," Sam told the woman.

"Lieutenant Commander Axe?" She woke up the instant she heard his name. "Why are you calling him at home? I didn't think he even gave out this number."

"Ma'am, I sorry, but I don't have time for trivialities. I need to speak with the Commander immediately." He held back a beleaguered sigh. Sam had met Mrs. Joseph Franklin, and while she was a nice lady, she had a tendency to get stuck on propriety and rules. "This is an emergency, ma'am. Lives are at stake."

"Oh, my," she muttered. "Hang on, I'll get him."

The line crackled while Sam waited. By now Hewitt and Seaver were gathered near, trying to listen to the conversation and holding back their questions until Sam was finished with the call.

"Axe, you better have a really good reason for waking me up. I just got to bed a little while ago after a late night strategy session." Commander Franklin's gravelly voice sounded even gruffer, like he'd smoked a pack of his favorite cigarettes before bedtime.

"Yes, Sir, I have a really good reason. If you don't provide me with assistance to raid the cartel before sundown, Agent Westen and Lieutenants Carson and Meyer will be dead. I just received a ransom note from our friends, and they didn't mince words."

"The team is on its way, Axe. They should be there… after eighteen hundred."

"That'll be too late, Sir."

Sam heard a deep sigh on the other end of the connection. "I'll see if I can expedite things. I'm sorry, Axe, that's the best I can do at this point. I can't wave a magic wand and have them appear instantly on your side of the world."

"I understand that, Sir. Thank you. And I'm sure the CIA will thank you too, if we can bring Westen back alive." Sam heard the sound of footsteps and turned to see Lucy at the door with the messenger boy. "Just a moment, Sir." He asked, "What is it, Lucy?"

"Diego says that he is supposed to return with a message. They expect you to agree to pay the money," Lucy replied. "I told him that you don't have it."

"Okay, just a second." Sam placed the phone against his ear. "Sir, did you hear that?"

"I did. Do what you need to do to hold off any kind of action on the cartel's part, Axe." Franklin squelched a yawn. "After I get off the horn with you, I'll call Commander Rice and get his people on the fast track to your location."

"Thank you, Sir." Sam closed the connection after Commander Franklin hung up, and he turned back to Lucy and the boy. "Did you ask him about where he came from? How many guys are up there? Are they all armed?"

Lucy shook her head. "I didn't ask him anything." Her hands curled over the child's bony shoulders. "All I know is that those people are horrible. This poor child is practically starving to death, and he's clothed in rags. They must be running a slave operation up there, not an orphanage!"

Sam stood in thought for a moment. The ideas running through his head were as close to insubordination as he'd ever gotten. If it was up to him, he would be arming himself to the teeth and leading his remaining two men up the side of the hill in the middle of the night.

The boy spoke, shaking Sam from his reverie. "What'd he say?"

Lucy listened as the boy repeated his words. "He says that he must return to the camp before noon or they will kill his sister and track him down and kill him too."

"That's not going to happen," Sam declared. "Why don't you go get him something to eat, and by the time he's ready to go we'll have a plan."

"You're seriously going to send him back," Lucy asked, eyes wide with surprise.

"Maybe you should ask God what we should do, Lucy, because right now, to tell you the truth, I'm stuck between my orders and what I know is the right thing to do." Her badgering was getting the better of him. He didn't mean to sound so sarcastic and short, yet to her credit she stood in her place and kept calm as she stared him down.

"Maybe I'll do just that." She took the boy's hand and spoke to him in Spanish as she left the house.

Sam didn't know a lot of the language, just enough to get himself into trouble in the city, but he understood her promising to get him something to eat. With Lucy out of the way and no more distractions, maybe he could come up with a plan.

"Whatever we do, Sir, it should involve us hot-footing it up that path," Hewitt said. "We can worry about our support later."

"I agree, Sir." Seaver added. "We need to do what we can to keep our guys from getting killed."

"Go get some gear together. I have one more avenue I haven't explored." Sam waited until his men left the house before dialing a number he never thought he would have to dial in his life.

"Card."

Now there was a man who didn't sound as if he'd been sleeping the night away. He was burning the midnight oil back in DC. "Is this Tom Card?"

"Yes it is. Who's this?"

"Lieutenant Commander Sam Axe. I'm working with Michael Westen." He paused. "He's been kidnapped by a Central American drug cartel, Sir, along with two of my men. If we don't do something or come up with two mil apiece by sunset, they're all dead."

"And you're calling me because..."

Sam's mouth opened, but he couldn't speak for a moment. He thought for sure that Michael's handler would want to come up with a plan to save him, but from the cold, sarcastic bite to Card's words, it seemed to Sam that the guy didn't care what happened to him.

"Sir, I was hoping you could get some aid in here faster than the SEALs. Commander Franklin is trying to get a team in here, but it'll be too late by the time they arrive." Sam let out a breath. "Are there any CIA resources we can use to spring him? Right now it's just me and two of my team, and over a dozen unfriendlies holding Mike and two of my guys. They also have a bunch of orphans up there, using 'em for slave labor by the sound of it."

Card sighed long and hard before answering. "I'd love to help you, Lieutenant Axe, but my resources are mighty thin right now. Michael knew what he was getting into, he's resourceful, and I have no doubt he'll get himself and your team members out just fine. Just be patient and let him work."

"You're making a hell of a lot of assumptions there, Card. What if he's incapable?"

Card dared to laugh. "I've worked with Michael long enough to know that if he isn't dead, he will find a way out. From what he's told me about your encounter in Kuwait, you should know that, Lieutenant."

"It's Lieutenant... Commander now, Card." Sam huffed. "Thanks for nothin'. I'll give Mike your kind regards, if we find him alive. I'm sure he'll be happy to know that his mentor has his back." Sam cut off the connection before Card could come back with something snarky.

"We're ready to go, Sir." Hewitt stuck his head in the door and announced.

"We've been ordered to stay put until another SEAL team arrives, and not even the CIA will help one of their own. Nobody will be here until close to the zero hour," Sam informed them. "I'm not liking that plan at all."

"Well then, here's an idea. Seav and I take off, and you go after us under the guise of us disobeying orders. We all wind up at the compound, you report just how bad things really are, and maybe it'll make them get the lead out."

Sam shook his head. "Do you know what you're saying? You're risking your career, Hewie. I can't let you do that. Sorry."

"My career wouldn't mean a hill of beans if I can't live with myself knowing I could have done something," Hewitt challenged.

A slow smile crossed Sam's face. "You know, Commander Franklin said we were supposed to do what we could to prevent the cartel from doing anything to our guys." He snapped his fingers and headed for the bedroom. "Get out of those fatigues and into your civilian clothes. Right now."

"Yes, Sir!" Hewitt and Seaver chorused and glanced at each other with sly smiles. They knew their leader would come up with an idea.

By the time Lucy had Diego fed and spent some more time on her knees before her makeshift altar, Sam, Hewitt and Seaver were ready to put his plan into motion. He stopped at her family's house wearing his tourist clothing, and the other team members looked like they just stepped off a cruise ship and were eager to party.

"You have a plan," Lucy said. She didn't ask.

"How'd you know?"

"You're not dressed for battle. You look like you took a wrong turn in San Salvador and wound up here." She smirked. "Is this part of your plan?"

"It is. I'm not going to waste any time telling you about it. Just that we're heading up there tonight, like this, and hoping we can free our guys." Sam smiled. He hadn't felt this secure since before Mike and the men went missing. "If we get caught, hopefully we can pass ourselves off as tourists who got seriously lost."

"That's dangerous, but if Diego goes with you, maybe you can pretend you found him on the path and were bringing him back. I can tell the boy to play along, if you like."

"No need, Ma'am," Hewitt answered for Sam. "I know Spanish."

"Alright." Lucy swallowed. "Take care, you guys. I'll be doing what I can down here."

Sam asked as nicely as he could without sounding as if he was mocking her. "You said Mike was okay, so what about us?"

"God is with you, Sam. You not only have your friends to free, but those children as well. Don't forget that." Her eyes blazed even in the moonlight, her concern for the kids equal to her concern for her countrymen.

"I promise, we won't forget the kids," Sam vowed. "Now, one more thing. I noticed that one of the villagers owns a pickup truck. Think he would mind if we borrowed it?"

Lucy smiled. "I don't see why not. Wait here, I'll be right back!" She took off into the night toward the house where the dark shadow of a truck fell on the siding. A few minutes later, she came back bearing the key. "Here you go." She unfurled her fingers and dropped the key into Sam's hand. "Blessings on you and your mission."

"Thank you, Lucy." He turned to his men and said, "Come on, let's go. Diego, vamanos!"

Diego trotted alongside Sam, reaching for him. Sam sensed the boy's presence, looked down, and found his hand and took it in his own. Diego grinned at him. He had to keep his feet moving at a swift pace to keep up with Sam and the SEALs, but he managed quite well. Sam helped him into the front seat, and Hewitt rode shotgun with him. Seaver took up position in the bed where he hid their weapons under some chicken feed bags. They had only a few hours of darkness left, and if they wanted to take advantage of it, they would have to practically speed up the mountain. Who knew what kind of terrain they would face?

He didn't ask, but Sam felt as if the kid knew what they were about to do and he couldn't wait for vengeance to rain down on the cartel. With only three men, that was pushing it. Maybe Lucy's faith in something bigger than them would come through. Sam remembered as a kid hearing stories about ordinary people in ancient times and places facing extraordinary circumstances, and only God could save them. They were in such a situation, and if such things really happened, now would be a good time for a repeat.

As he drove up the grade Sam thought, we need a big miracle.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

After he drove out of the village about a mile or so, the road's condition improved to a startling contrast from what he'd bumped and jostled them over the first mile. It wasn't paved, but it might as well have been with its smooth, even, packed dirt. A fine gravel covered it and most likely served as a buffer for the rains. Fortunately that wasn't an obstacle, as the sky was clear and all the stars shone down on the old pickup truck as Sam forced it to keep moving up the road. It strained a bit on the steeper sections, but it kept running. To his surprise, the road leveled off and he skimmed past a couple of buildings made of corrugated metal. No one seemed to be around them, but Sam's instincts told him that it didn't hurt to check them anyway.

Sam applied the breaks and parked on the side of the road. "Okay, let's go check out those buildings."

"No, no!" Diego urged Sam with a voice full of panic as he tugged on the sleeve of Sam's shirt. He spouted off a stream of Spanish, and Sam looked at Hewitt.

Hewitt translated. "Sir, he's saying that those are the buildings where they warehouse large quantities of cocaine, and the kids are put to to work breaking down the bricks into smaller amounts."

Disgust and horror tightened Sam's gut. "Really? That's sick."

"I know, Sir. But that's what they make them do."

Sorrow for the kids brought a sting to the backs of his eyes. In wartime he'd seen plenty of things done to and with children that would make a civilian's stomach turn. He tried to steel himself against such things, but it never got easy. Maybe if it did, he wouldn't be any better than those who committed such atrocities.

Letting out a soft breath, Sam said, "Okay. Let's keep moving. By my watch, we made good time getting up here. It was supposed to be like fifteen miles or something, right?"

"That was what the villagers told us, Sir." Seaver declared from his perch in the truck bed.

"We got up here in about a half hour." He turned to Hewitt. "Ask the kid how much farther to the compound."

Hewitt spoke to Diego, and he replied in Spanish. Hewitt answered, "Another mile, because the road curves around. The kids go up and down a wide path over there, behind the buildings."

Sam raised a pair of night vision binoculars to study the path. "It's clear. We could use it, just go up there and sneak in to get our guys, but we don't know what's up there."

Sam heard the sound of scratching, and he looked to his right to see Diego scribbling on the back of an old official looking piece of paper. He pointed to it and started speaking, and when he finished Hewitt gave Sam the detailed layout of the compound.

"Dammit, why didn't I think of that earlier to ask the kid for a map?" He smiled at Diego and ruffled his hair. "Gracias, Diego."

Diego grinned back and said something else.

"He says that there are three men watching at night. They sleep in the day. So there are even more guys there than we thought, Sir."

"We have darkness on our side," Sam countered. He glanced at the map and by the light of the dash he strategized. "Most likely they've got Mike, Carson and Meyer locked up in the house. We'll get around here into the jungle and approach from that side, do a recon through the windows, and see if we can find them. Look for an easy way inside, do a room by room search, and hopefully be out quick and easy with our guys."

"What about the truck," Hewitt asked.

"We'll see where we can hide it off the road," Sam answered. "Okay, anyone have any objections to this plan?" He glanced at Hewitt, who remained silent and unmoving. He shot a look at Seaver through the back window, and the other man said nothing. "Good. I'm going to pull up a little closer and see if there's some place I can hide the truck."

In the end they wound up parking off the road near a stand of scrub trees, cutting off more brush and camouflaging the vehicle with it. Sam stepped back and studied their work. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.

"What about the kid, Sir? And the others?" Seaver stared at Sam. "You promised we'd get the kids out too."

"I know I did, but with just the three of us... okay, I've got an idea. Hewitt, you break off and approach the dorm with Diego, get the kids up and quietly herd them to the path that leads down to the village. Diego knows where it is." He smiled at the boy. "Seav and I will check out the house and hope our guys can walk out on their own. Then we'll bring them to the truck, load 'em up, and get the hell out of here. We all meet back at the village."

"Hopefully we don't have the cartel following us, Sir," Seaver said. "Those villagers have nothing to defend themselves."

"I'm aware of that," Sam replied with tension in his voice. "I'm trying to do the best I can with our limited resources and save everybody. It ain't easy."

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." Seaver stood shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I'm ready."

Hewitt nodded, his rifle in his hands. "Me too, Sir. Let's do this."

Sam grabbed a rifle from the truck bed and made sure it was loaded. "Alright. Let's liberate everybody."

Hewitt and Diego broke away from Sam and Seaver and the SEAL followed the little boy to the dormitory. Sam and Seaver ducked into the jungle, and with night vision goggles were able to pick their way through the tangled mess to the back of the house. Sam peered into the windows on one end, and Seaver ran up to take the others. He stopped at the first one and gasped, then turned toward Sam, who heard him make the sound.

Seaver motioned him over. When Sam stood beside him, he whispered, "They're all in here, Sir. And there's a door around the side. Easy for getting them out."

"There are people sleeping in these bedrooms," Sam whispered in reply, pointing to the sets of windows along the wall. "I have an idea for keeping them there. Stay with our guys when we get inside, wake 'em up, but make sure they stay quiet."

"Yes, Sir."

Sam took a peek around the corner and saw a couple of guards around the perimeter. They didn't have night vision, so Sam and Seaver's entrance to the house would go unnoticed. So far, the plan was going smooth, in a strange, unnatural way. Sam refused to dwell on that. They were still a long way from free. He pulled out a few tools from his pocket and unlocked the door. A sound of voices got his attention and he looked across the open yard to see the two guards rushing toward the dorm. Flashes of small bodies slipping through the opening to the path told Sam that Hewitt was successful in getting the kids up and away. The guards fired at them, but Hewitt fired back.

"Sir..."

"I know, our window just closed." Sam barged into the house and said, "You take care of them. I've got the people in the bedrooms." He raced down the hall, digging into his pocket for the things that would assist him in keeping these people in their rooms. He smiled when his fingers scooped up the coins in his pocket.

Sam approached the first door and heard mumbling on the other side. He reached up to the top of the door frame and slipped one of the coins into the frame. He stuck another two into the side near the door handle. He crossed the hall and did the same to the other door where he heard people rousing. One more room, and he would be done. He dipped into his pocket for more change just as the door opened and a man came out into the hall with an automatic gun.

With the advantage of night vision, Sam was able to strike the man with a well-aimed punch that laid him out on the floor. Stunned, he tried to recover his weapon but Sam kicked it out of the way and pressed the barrel of his rifle into the man's chest.

"You speak English," Sam asked.

"Ahhh, yes," the man hissed. Judging by the sound, he would have a few bruises later.

"Get up." Sam stepped back and ordered him to his feet. "And get back into that room if you wanna live."

The man obeyed and stumbled inside. A woman sprung at Sam from behind the door brandishing a knife, but Sam turned the gun on her and she halted, staring at the weapon. "You too. Drop the knife and get back."

The man spoke to her in Spanish, and in the blink of an eye she turned into a snarling, raging mass of hate. Sam backed up and she came at him, and he fired, taking her down with one shot. The man came at him, and he took him down too. He checked the room for any more occupants and found none, so he turned and ran back to the room where Michael, Carson and Meyer were being held.

"Are they ready to go," Sam asked Seaver.

"Yes, Sir. Meyer's not doing too good, he's got a bad shoulder wound." Seaver and Carson were in the process of picking him up when Sam entered the room.

"Sam." Michael's voice sounded ragged, but glad to see his friend.

Sam turned to him and despite his desire to embrace him, he held back. "You okay, Mike?"

"Yeah. Just a bit bruised, but I've had worse."

"Good to hear. Now, let's get you guys out of here." He approached the door and listened. "It's quiet out there. Too damn quiet."

"Hewitt got the kids on the path," Seaver reported. "The guards probably gave up when they heard the ruckus in here. I took down a couple of 'em when they tried to come into this room."

"Good work, Seav. Okay, that means there's still one out there if there were three guys canvassing the property. There are a lot more of us. Let's get back to the truck and get our people off this mountain." He handed Michael his rifle and pulled out his side arm. "Ready, Mikey?"

"Anytime, Sam. I'm getting a little tired of this place. The food wasn't as good as what we had in the village, and our hosts could use some lessons in hospitality, you know?"

Sam laughed. "Well, it'll have to wait until someone gets them out. Most likely the SEAL team that shows up, unless they break out first." Sam led the way outside and around the back of the house the way they came.

"How'd you secure them in their rooms, Sir?" Seaver glanced over his shoulder at Sam.

"An old trick from college. I pennied their doors."

"Pennied their doors, Sir?" Seaver asked.

"Yeah. You take a coin and stick it in between the door and the frame, more than one if you can, and if it's thick enough, it'll keep the occupants from opening the door from their side." Sam laughed. "The only way they're getting out is if someone kicks the door in, or someone on the other side is really strong."

Sam and Michael carried Meyer between them, his arms draped over their shoulders. The group exited the house and heard kids screaming and rapid fire. "I guess we know where the other guard is," Sam muttered. "Seaver, go back up Hewitt and help get those kids to safety. We're good here."

"Yes, Sir!" Seaver sprinted across the yard and down the path, and before Sam and Michael could get the freed men around the corner, Seaver laid down a steady rain of firepower. It stopped abruptly, and then there was an eerie silence.

"What now, Sam," Michael asked, his voice stressed by the effort of carrying the injured SEAL.

"South, out of the compound, we've got a truck waiting," Sam answered, and he and Michael hurried to the road that took them past the helopad and down to where the pickup truck still sat in its cover.

Cries of Spanish behind them made Sam realize that he hadn't secured everyone in the rooms, but it was too late now to worry about, and he didn't dare look over his shoulder and risk slowing the progress they were making. He kept pace with Michael and trusted that Carson would hold them off while the duo made it to the truck. Sam signaled to Michael to set Meyer down, and they propped him against a tree trunk.

"The truck's in all this brush. Help me get it uncovered." He pulled at branches and fronds on the driver's side, and Michael worked on the passenger side. In no time the truck was uncovered, and Sam got in to start it.

Michael picked up Meyer and without fanfare rolled him over the side into the truck bed. He jumped in after him and shouted at Sam. "Go! We're in!"

Sam backed up into the road and turned the truck to face downhill. He yelled through the open window on the passenger side, "Carson! Come on!"

Carson had sought cover behind a tree that was fast becoming a stand of toothpicks thanks to the firepower he exchanged with two guards. Carson nodded at his commander and pushed himself away from the tree, using its last bit of protection to get down the slope. A round hit him in the back. Surprise wrote itself on his face and he tumbled down the drive.

"Hang on, Sam. I'll get him!" Michael leaped over the side of the truck and ran to meet Carson.

"I'm okay, Sir. Just got me in the flak jacket," Carson told him when Michael reached to pick him up from the ground. As he found himself being pulled to the truck, he added, "I'm a little shaken up, but I'm fine."

"Good. Get in there and keep your head down." Michael turned and fired at the first guard to show his face over the rise. He grabbed his chest and went down.

"Mike, get in!" Sam put his foot on the accelerator, and he was pleased to see Michael grab the corner of the truck bed and throw himself up and into it.

Michael and Carson let go of a hail of bullets as Sam drove away. Michael said, "Someone must have gotten your captives out, Sam. Or these guys have reinforcements we didn't know about."

In the rearview mirror, Sam saw three of them standing in the road firing at the truck. The road was too narrow to take evasive action by swerving, and he had to pay attention to when the curves came, so he did the best he could. He was coming up on a bend that would get them away from the line of fire, and Sam was tempted to breathe a little easier, but he knew this didn't guarantee they would make it back to the village safe and sound. He felt the strain on the steering and suspension as he pealed around the curve. In the growing light of dawn he could see that the fall wouldn't necessarily be fatal, but it would certainly be ugly. As if in confirmation, a sudden explosion rippled through the truck body, and the chassis jerked toward the precipice.

"Sam, we've been hit," Michael exclaimed from the back.

"Hang on you guys," Sam responded as the muscles in his arms tightened, fighting against the truck's momentum bringing it ever closer to the edge. He muttered, "Damn, why can't you people have guard rails?"

It was a losing battle, two limbs against two tons of steel. The truck tires slipped, tilting the vehicle, leaving it floating in the air for a moment before it plunged off the road. Sam held on tight, but the roof hitting solid ground pried his grip loose from the steering wheel. This was it. After all he'd been through, he was going to die on a Salvadoran mountainside. If he'd had time, his mind would have considered what this meant. Instead, he shut down and went limp, allowing himself to bump and roll in the cab until the carcass came to a stop against a large rock with a dull crunch. He lay on what used to be the cab's roof, not unconscious, but unable to move.

Am I paralyzed, he wondered. He dared to wiggle a few fingers. It didn't hurt, thank God, although the muscles in his forearm felt as if they'd been stretched to their limit. He heard shouts and more Spanish. Jeez, I really need to learn the language if I do any more missions like this! He heard the crunch and swish of someone moving through vegetation, followed by a voice near the wreckage. Sam kept his eyes closed, pretending to be dead. Considering how his head pounded, it probably wasn't far from the truth.

"Están muertos," the voice called.

Sam held his breath until the speaker moved away and he heard voices mingling and becoming more muted by the moment. Even then, he waited a few minutes before attempting to shift his position. After a tumble like that, he had to be careful. Everything seemed fine, but if he cracked a vertebrae or something, he could be in big trouble, or dead. He moved each limb, grateful that each one did what he wanted it to and without much pain. No doubt he would have a crop of bruises on his body when he checked later. Right now, he had to worry about Mike, Carson, and Meyer.

"Mike. Mike, where are you," Sam called out as he crawled from the passenger side window and dropped to the ground. The truck lay on its side at an angle against the rock. Sam walked around the crumpled hulk, every inch of him feeling like he'd aged fifty years in five minutes. Something dripped into his line of sight and he swiped at it with his fingers. He stared at the dark wet fluid on his fingertips. Blood.

With the back of his hand he pulled away the rest and he sucked in a breath as he touched the cut near his hairline. He wiped his hand on his shirt and continued moving around the truck bed, and he craned his head past the tailgate to find the bed empty. Not far from it and the rock, the ground dropped off about one hundred feet to an outcropping below. Sam was relieved to see that no one lay on it.

But where were the others? He turned and scanned the uneven ground upward to the road. Rays of a new sunrise painted the side of the mountain with orange strokes, illuminating the path the truck took down the slope. Sam spied three bodies littering the grasses and other vegetation, and with a knot of fear in his stomach, he noticed that none of them moved. He crawled up the mountainside to the first form that lay face down, and he took care to turn it. Sam swallowed back the bile that rose into his throat when he saw the damage. Meyer was alive, but without adequate medical assistance, Sam was afraid that he wouldn't be for long. He studied the debris field in search of the pack that held their medical gear, and he found it near Carson's body. He scrambled up to get it, checked on Carson and found him breathing and starting to come around.

Carson groaned, "Am… am I really alive?"

Sam smiled down at him. "Yeah, you're alive. Just don't move until I've had a chance to check you out, okay? I've gotta patch Meyer up and I'll be right back."

"Okay." Carson lay unmoving and closed his eyes against the sunlight hitting his face.

Sam returned to Meyer's side and worked on cleaning up the blood from the injured man's face. A long gash ran from his forehead to below his cheek and bled, but Sam pressed a thick pad into it to stem the flow. Meyer groaned in protest and tried to roll away.

"Hey, hey, don't move." Sam pressed his free hand into Meyer's back. "I know this hurts, but I've gotta stop the bleeding."

"Where's everybody else," Meyer asked as he tried to move into a sitting position.

"You shouldn't move until I've checked you out." Sam tried to hold him down, but Meyer was more determined.

"I'm fine, Sir, except for this." He took the gauze from Sam's hand and held it against his wound. "Go on, Sir. Check out the others. I'm fine."

Smirking, Sam declared, "Less than five minutes ago you looked like you were dead."

"I'm sure it looks worse than it is." Meyer returned the smirk, then winced at the pain.

Sam was sure he'd change his tune if he saw himself in a mirror. Nodding, he left Meyer where he sat and climbed to where Carson also sat up assessing his bumps and flowering bruises. He coughed and grabbed his side as the pain registered on his face. "You okay, Carson?"

"Think I have some broken ribs, probably a concussion, but I can make it out of here." He hesitated and added, "Lucinda didn't promise we'd come out of this unscathed, but hey, we're all alive. That's something, ain't it?"

"I haven't checked on Westen yet. If you're the praying kind, put in a good word for him, will ya?" Sam winked and continued up and to the left where Michael lay on his back, limbs spread out, the morning light showing cuts on his face and a massive rip in his fatigue pants. As Sam got closer he discovered the cause and muttered a curse.

"Is he okay, Sir?"

Sam turned and saw Meyer crawling up to him on his hands and knees, favoring his previous shoulder injury.

"I told you to stay put, didn't I?" Sam barked at him.

Smiling, Meyer replied, "Gee, Sir, I must have a head injury affecting my short term memory. I don't remember." The cocked grin he gave him would have earned Meyer a good upbraiding on a normal day, but in that moment when tension was high, his good-natured cockiness deflated some of the anxiety.

"Whatever. You're good enough to walk?"

"I think so, Sir." Meyer stopped on Michael's opposite side. "Is that a femur break?"

"Yes, it is."

Meyer looked ready to gag as he turned white. He dropped on his backside and turned away. "Excuse me, Sir, but I was never much good with field dressing."

"Ha, is anyone?" Sam felt a presence at his elbow and glared at Carson who stopped beside him. "Don't tell me, you're fine too."

"Yes, Sir. Looks like we'll have to take Westen out of here on a stretcher, except we don't have one. Don't worry. Meyer, get off your butt. We'll figure out how to make one with what we've got."

As Sam worked on getting Michael's leg stable for transport and stopping the bleeding, Carson and Meyer devised a way to carry Michael. Their injuries hindered them but they resolved to not let their pain stop them from completing the mission. They were SEALs after all. The sound of an engine brought their heads up and the three looked toward the road to see a pickup truck speeding around the curve. In the back sat several well armed men whose eyes scoured the area around them. They were on the hunt, but none of them seemed concerned with the bodies scattered on the mountainside.

The sound of the engine died as the truck continued down the mountain. When they felt it was safe to move, Sam, Carson, and Meyer got up from their dead man positions. "That was close," Carson muttered. "Come on, Meyer. Let's finish this."

Using a couple of thick branches and some rope they found among the debris, the two men created a sling on which they could lay Michael to carry him down the mountain. It wouldn't be comfortable for the carriers or the passenger, but it was the only way to get him back to the village


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Lucy was in the middle of doing the laundry when she heard a shout come from some of the villagers. Her heart leaped, thinking that Sam, Michael and their team had returned. Hopefully with the children. Dear Lord, let them have the children with them! She left her clothes soaking in the wooden tub and ran up the creek bed toward the houses. Others dropped what they were doing in the fields and the grove of banana trees nearby to see what the fuss was about. Lucy wore a wide smile on her face when she recognized two of Sam's team, Hewitt and Seaver, and behind them stood a dozen children of different ages. The youngest appeared to be five, and the oldest was in his teens. Two women accompanied them, their eyes fearful at the sight of all the townspeople.

Lucy came forward to greet them. "You're back!"

"Yes, ma'am," Hewitt answered. "We made pretty good time with all these kids. The sun was just starting to come up when we got out of the complex with 'em. These two ladies are their teachers." Hewitt turned and introduced them. "That's about all I was able to get out of 'em, ma'am. They're kinda scared, not sure what to make of us, probably." He snickered.

"I'm sure." Lucy smiled. She spoke to the children and then the villagers. Several came forward and divided the children among them as well as taking the teachers to the campfire where they could get something to eat.

"Looks like Lieutenant Commander Axe hasn't made it back with Westen and the rest of the team yet," Seaver noted as he searched the area for the faded red and white truck.

"No, they haven't come back," Lucy confirmed. A sudden fear gripped her. "What happened up there? Why did you leave them behind?"

"Ma'am, Lieutenant Commander Axe was with Westen and our guys, so either they didn't make it to the truck to get a clean escape… or something happened on the way down." Seaver looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, ma'am. We haven't been able to hail them on the radio. Hewie and I were hoping they'd get here first since they had wheels."

"I fear something terrible must have happened to them," Lucy said. "A couple hours ago, two trucks came roaring through the village carrying several men with guns. I assume they were from the compound. They passed through without stopping, but now we're all waiting and wondering if they'll come back."

"I'm not sure why they rolled through here, ma'am, but I'd bet my last bullet that they'll return to their HQ," Hewitt piped up. "Seav, we should get in the Humvee and sweep the road. Take advantage of the fact that the whole cartel probably bugged out temporarily."

"We should wait a little while longer and try to hail Lieutenant Commander Axe on the radio," Seaver countered.

"If they're injured on the side of the road somewhere, we're wasting time debating this," Hewitt argued.

"Fellas, stop it," Lucy exclaimed and held up her hands. "Think for a second. What would Sam want you to do?"

The corner of Seaver's mouth tipped up. "He'd want us to go back. No man left behind."

"Alright then, let's get the Humvee and go," Hewitt shot back and took off for the military vehicle hidden from the view of anyone on the road. He started it and turned around, picked up Seaver, and didn't waste any time getting on the road.

"God be with you guys!" Lucy called after them. Inside, she felt her spirit stir, and an assurance that everything would be okay filled her soul.

"Mama! Mama!"

Lucy turned and found Benito toddling away from his aunt and closing the distance with arms out wide. She smiled, bent down, and reached out to pick him up in her arms and hug him. "Here I am, baby. Let's go finish that laundry." Lucy walked to the stream where she left her things, not looking back as the Humvee disappeared from view. She believed with all her heart that the others would be found and return to the village. None of the good guys would lose their lives today.

* * *

Sam was able to salvage a couple of canteens of water and some snacks from the packs that spilled out of the truck bed. The MREs were squashed and the extra water reserves were lost. Things hadn't been this dire for him in quite awhile. The last time he worked on so few resources was when he and Mike were stuck in the desert in the middle of a sandstorm for six days. He'd been severely injured then, and now the tables were turned.

Michael's leg was a bleeding mess, but Sam said a little prayer of thanks that the bone hadn't ripped through an artery. It took some time to staunch the flow and immobilize the leg for transport, and with an IV to help stabilize him, Michael was ready to go.

"You guys done with that," Sam asked as he inclined his head toward the makeshift stretcher.

"Yes Sir, it's all set," Carson answered. "I don't think Meyer's gonna be able to help haul, though. That shoulder is giving him a lot of pain."

"It's fine, I'll deal with it. Just pop a few aspirin and I'll be good."

Looking at the Lieutenant, Sam could tell by his pasty complexion that he wouldn't last long if he had to expend any major energy. Walking down the mountain on the road might be all he could handle. If necessary, Sam could hike down with his friend over his shoulder, but he didn't want to risk further injury to that femur.

"Before we go anywhere, I want to take a look at your shoulder," Sam declared and picked up the medical pack. He dropped it beside the rock where Meyer sat. "Let me see it."

"Really, it's not bad, Sir, just a flesh wound. It's a miracle, really." Meyer unbuttoned his shirt and pulled open his vest, and Sam pushed aside the thick armor to study the wound.

"Looks like the bullet is gone," Sam murmured and shook his head in amazement. "How close a range was this?"

Meyer reported with a sense of awe in his voice. "It was close, maybe a couple hundred yards. It should have gone through the armor and pierced deeper. As it was, I was able to just pull it out." As Sam cleaned the wound and patched it with gauze and tape, Meyer met his eyes. "Lucy must've been doing some heavy duty prayin', Sir."

Still not believing, Sam spoke. "I've seen stuff like this happen before. You were just lucky."

Meyer sighed, but he kept his mouth shut. Sam finished patching him up and took inventory of what was left. Carson moved the stretcher to where Michael lay and prepared to put him on it with Sam's assistance. The two lifted Michael with care, settled him on it, and took up their packs before lifting their burden. Sam was worried that Mike hadn't shown any signs of coming to, but if he was in serious pain, and given the amount of trauma he endured, it shouldn't have been surprising.

"If you need help, let me know," Meyer said. He walked beside Sam with his weapon cradled in the crook of his arm, his eyes roving the area around them in search of an enemy.

"Don't worry, Meyer, we've got him," Sam assured his subordinate.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, its rays heating up the air and turning the atmosphere to oppressive by mid-morning. Sam estimated that even if they could keep up this pace, it would take them nearly all day and into the evening to get to the village. After a short break, when he picked up his end of the stretcher, Sam chose the foot so he could keep an eye on Mike and gauge his condition. Was he sweating? Was he pale? Sam stopped way too often just to check on him, but he was afraid for his friend and his survival. If the radio hadn't been demolished under the truck wreckage, he would have radioed Hewitt and Seaver for assistance.

"Carson, how are you doing up there," Sam asked.

Carson shot a reply over his shoulder. "I'm fine, Sir. I… I could do this all day."

"Yeah, right." Sam noted the beads of perspiration at the nape of his neck and how his shirt clung to his back. Carson's feet moved, but not with the energy he had when the adrenaline was still fresh. No doubt his injuries were beginning to affect him.

For a moment, Sam considered asking Meyer to take over, but he was probably less capable of holding onto the stretcher than Carson. He certainly couldn't do it alone. Sam pressed on, trying not to think about how many miles they had to go to reach the village, because he'd already lost track of how many they walked. Speculation was useless, and the only sure thing was the march of the sun across the southern sky. In the west he spied large, puffy clouds with a layer of gray moving in behind the beautiful, innocuous looking fluff. If it rained before they found shelter….

"Sir, can we stop for about a half hour," Meyer asked. "I'm ready for a rest and some chow."

"Me too, Sir." Carson added his vote.

"Okay, let's get under those trees up ahead and out of this sun."

Carson's pace quickened, the psychological reward of cool shade spurring him. Sam understood how he felt. He was beginning to feel a sun burn coming on, and if he didn't slather on some sunscreen, he would be sorry later. Under the canopy, he and Carson set Michael just off the shoulder of the road. He murmured and stirred, and Sam knelt beside him with a canteen at the ready.

"Hey, Mikey, come on. Wake up. You've been slackin' off, pal."

Michael's eyes fluttered open and he stared at the leaves overhead. Then his gaze roved to the two men helping themselves to the food in the pack before lighting on Sam. When he spoke, his voice sounded gruff and dry. "Where are we?"

"On the road heading back to the village," Sam replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty." Michael tried to rise to his elbows but he was unable to do it without help from Sam. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Why am I so weak?"

"You lost a hell of a lot of blood, Mike. You should be on plasma right now, but I left that back at the camp, so you're stuck with a straight IV." Sam quipped.

A weak tug of his lips and Michael smiled. "I hope you didn't forget water."

"We're limited in what survived our tumble down the bank, but here, take some." He held the canteen for Michael to drink as much as he wanted. "You want something to eat? You should try a little something to get your strength up."

"No, I'm not… not hungry," Michael denied as he lay back on his elbows. After a few seconds, his arms began to shake and he dropped himself to the ground.

"Yeah, right. Remember how you had to harp on me to eat something when we were in the desert?" Sam glared at him, stubborn and unwilling to take 'no' for an answer. "Well, the shoe's on the other foot now, pal, and I'm telling you that you've gotta try something. Just a little, to make sure it stays down."

Groaning, Michael said, "I should have known that time was going to come back and bite me on the ass."

Sam laughed. "They say what goes around comes around, Mikey. For what it's worth, as crappy as this situation is, I'm honored that I have the chance to pay you back for what you did."

"You say that now," Michael said as he held up a finger in warning. "We'll see how you feel ten miles from now."

"Ten miles and we'll almost be back to the village and the SEAL team will be here," Sam said with confidence. "None of this six days crap."

"You got it easy then," Michael replied.

"With a patient like you, that's debatable," Sam shot back, but when Michael opened an eye and studied him, he saw nothing but a sly smile. "Come on, Mike, just humor me, will you?"

Michael chuckled. "I remember what it was like, the two of us in that sandstorm." A low rumble interrupted him, and Sam muttered under his breath. Michael's brow furrowed as he said, "Uhoh, that didn't sound good. What was that?"

"Thunder," Sam answered. "There's a storm coming, and there's no way we're gonna make it back to the village before it hits." He turned his attention to his men. "We better figure out some kind of shelter to hold us."

"Sir, can't we pick up the pace," Meyer asked.

"Only if you can run sixty miles an hour," Sam responded. "No way, we're better off spending our time constructing a shelter before the storm hits than to try to get to safety and then get stuck in it." He stood and peered over the bushes at the oncoming clouds. "Those suckers are dark."

Carson picked up a pair of binoculars and studied the clouds. "I can see the rain, Sir. It's going to be like a wall of water coming at us. That's how storms are like in this climate."

"I know. That's why we have to concentrate on shelter versus running."

"We shouldn't be under a tree, that's for sure," Meyer said as he stood and scouted the area. "There's some brush down there a ways. Do we have something to throw over them? We could tie it down and we'd all have to get cozy, but hey, I'm willing to do that in an emergency."

"We have a couple of emergency blankets," Sam announced. "We'll have to use some of this waterproof bandaging tape to stick them together, but I think it'll work."

"Well, let's go then, Sir."

"Meyer, you and Westen stay here," Sam ordered and he and Carson hiked the few hundred yards to the area where they planned to create a shelter.

Carson checked the cove for any unwelcome guests and found it was clear. Sam spread out the blankets on the ground and a breeze tried to take one of them away, but Carson stretched out a foot and stepped on the corner. Sam nodded his thanks. Kneeling on the other blanket, he ran a long strip of tape so that the two became one large tarp. After a few more strategically placed pieces, Sam was out of tape.

"I hope that holds," he said as he twirled the empty core on his finger.

"It has to. I've got some cord we can use to tie it down." With Sam taking one end and Carson the other, they stretched it over the brush. Carson used a couple of sturdy y-shaped branches as tent stakes, and Sam did the same. For good measure, Sam poked two holes into part of the seam toward the front, ran the cord through, and staked it down.

Thunder rolled, as if they needed a reminder why they were constructing a shelter, warning them that they were running out of time. Carson and Sam stood back and studied the shelter.

"It's not perfect, but it's the best we've got," Carson said.

"Yeah. Let's go get Mike and Meyer and hunker down before this thing hits." Sam turned up the sloping road and Carson followed. He glanced at the Lieutenant and asked, "How are you holding up? You look tired."

"I'm fine, Sir. I'm bound to be after all this." Carson turned away, then back as he continued in a tentative voice. "Pardon me for saying so, Sir, but you're not exactly all fresh and ready to go yourself."

Sam threw his head back and laughed, just as a raindrop splashed into his face. "That's what I like about you, Carson. You never BS a guy." He slapped a hand on his shoulder and lengthened his stride. "Let's get a move on. That storm is coming in fast."

As soon as they reached the other two, Sam and Carson picked up the stretcher with Michael on it and hurried down the road. Meyer kept up with them and pushed back some of the underbrush so they could get Michael inside the shelter. Not long after they got under cover and arranged themselves into semi-comfortable positions, a loud crack of thunder sounded not far away and a hiss announced the onslaught of rain.

"Couldn't have cut that any closer, Sam," Michael commented.

"Drama. It's a Sam Axe specialty, don't you know, Mikey?" He smirked, and Michael's weak laugh filled the confines.

The men watched the rain slam into the road and run down to a trench not far away. Their shelter was on a straightaway, avoiding the drainage. Some of the water trickled into the shelter from the grass, and drops slipped past the rope holding down the front section to land on Carson's boots. He retracted his feet and bunched up his knees, hugging them to himself. The pitter pattering of rain on the waterproof material was incessant as part of it bowed from the weight of water collecting on it. Sam pushed on it, releasing the water, if only temporarily.

"Man, this reminds me of when we were kids and we'd try to beat the rain home on our bikes," Meyer said. "We'd wind up under someone's porch waiting for it to end."

"It always rains like this in Florida," Carson said. "Only it's quick, maybe ten, twenty minutes and it's done."

"It's like that in Miami too," Michael said, the rhythm of the rain reminding him of home, a place that didn't conjure up wonderful memories like it did for most people.

"Yes, Sir, I'm from Opa-Laka," Carson drawled. "Practically neighbors."

Michael remained silent, closing his eyes. He was exhausted, and the rain helped to relax him, but he really didn't want to talk about home. A vision of his mother popped up behind his eyelids, and he imagined her reaction to him being in this situation. She would be horrified, no doubt, and scared for him. She might even retreat further into the haze of hypochondria, doctors' visits, and prescriptions that had become her life. Then she would blame him in hopes that the guilt would drive him home. He knew all about it, because unknown to her, Nate wrote him now and then to tell him what was happening and to rub it in how much the family needed him. Dad was getting more intolerant and insufferable all the time, and Nate would have moved out except for two things: he had no job to pay the bills, and he was afraid of leaving Ma alone with their father.

I really don't need to think about that right now. Michael let out a deep sigh.

"You okay, Mike," Sam asked.

Michael opened his eyes and discovered a look of deep concern on Sam's face. He gave him a small smile of reassurance. "I'm fine. I'll just be glad when we get out of here."

"You and us too, brother," Sam exclaimed.

The rain hadn't let up, and one of the canteens was empty, so Sam held it out to capture the torrents falling from the sky. God only knew what was in the air that the water carried with it, but if they needed the water, he was willing to take a chance. Fortunately, they weren't so far from the village that they might be stranded for days. Surely by late night they would be back, even with this hitch in their schedule. The rainwater might not be necessary. However, Sam was not one to pass up an opportunity to be prepared for later, just in case. After all, none of this plan was going according to plan. Who knew what else might go wrong.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The wipers on the Humvee were going as fast as possible, but still Hewitt and Seaver couldn't see very well through the windshield. Even worse, the road was turning into a giant muddy quagmire, and even the deep treads on the Humvee's tires slipped on the muck. The front right tire dropped into a rut, and Hewitt gave the vehicle extra gas to get it unstuck. Seaver's narrowed eyes slid to glare at him. He sat in the passenger seat with bits of mud splattered on his face and clothing, which were soaked, and his hair plastered to his head.

"Careful, Hewie. We get stuck again, I'm not going out there until it stops raining, and then it'd be under protest."

Hewitt met his glance. "Hey, I'm sorry, Seav. It's not like I ordered this storm. How about next time I get out and you drive?"

"I like that idea," Seaver responded with a smile. "But we'll probably match afterwards."

"Probably." Hewitt's attention was on the road and not conversation. He rounded a curve and the front end of the vehicle went down into a narrow trench with a bang. "What the…."

"The road's washed out," Seaver announced with irritation. "See if you can back out."

"Then what? We're not gonna be able to get through." He put the vehicle into reverse and gently pressed the accelerator. The wheels spun but the Humvee didn't move. "Nice. We're stuck."

"Try it again. If we make it out, we'll turn around, go back to the village, and when the rain stops maybe we can come back with some ramps or something to get over the washouts like this one."

Hewitt tried again, but he only succeeded in digging the wheels in deeper. He gave up and slapped the steering wheel with the heels of his hands. "We're really dug in now." After turning off the ignition, he leaned into the bucket seat. "Might as well get comfy. We may be here awhile until the rain stops."

The rain sounded like drumsticks pelting a snare drum over their heads while water ran in rivulets down the window glass. Seaver felt chilled. He folded his arms and pressed them against himself in a vain attempt to get warm. He would have asked Hewitt to turn on the heater, but then the windows would fog up and they'd be even blinder than they already were. He heard a sigh come from Hewitt, and he opened his eyes. It alarmed him that they were closed, as he had no recollection of doing that.

"Did I fall asleep," he asked Hewitt.

"Huh? Uh, no. At least I don't think so." Hewitt smiled. "You weren't snoring."

"I don't snore," Seaver denied with a grumpy tone.

"You do. Next time I'll videotape you just to prove it." Hewitt laughed and returned his attention to something in his hand.

"Maybe it was you snoring."

"I never snore."

"Baloney."

A flash of lightning lit up the wall of water in front of them, accompanied by a loud bang and a cracking noise. They watched as a large tree fell into the road, the thick branches landing on the Humvee's hood, causing the entire vehicle to bounce once before it was pinned like a bug in a display case.

"Oh, that's not good."

Hewitt chuckled, but there was no amusement in the sound. "Sometimes you really know how to state the obvious, my friend."

"Just be glad that bolt didn't hit us, Hewie."

"Yeah." He released a deep sigh as he rubbed the small medal that he kept on a chain separate from his dog tags. "God sure isn't making this any easier, is he."

"They say nothing worth anything is easy."

"If I had a beer, I'd drink to that," Hewitt agreed.

"And I'd join you." Seaver smiled, but his expression changed to one more serious as he asked, "What do you think we should do now?"

"We're not going outside, that's for sure." Another lightning strike nearby confirmed his statement. "We wait until this storm passes. Then we'll hike up the mountain and see if we can find our people. Hopefully the Commander was able to find shelter."

"Maybe they never left the compound."

Hewitt glanced at Seaver, terrible thoughts running through his head. If Lieutenant Commander Axe, Michael Westen, and Meyer and Carson didn't make it out of the complex, most likely they were dead. The cartel wouldn't have left them behind if they were captured and alive. He peeked at his watch. By now the cartel could be on their way back, and they would also be hamstrung by this roadblock when they arrived. A shiver of fear ran through him.

"I wonder if the other SEAL team's arrival time will be delayed by this storm," Seaver mused aloud.

"Maybe, but if they come in by chopper, it won't matter too much," Hewitt replied, his thumb and forefinger rubbing the medal hard enough to warm it. "They just need clear weather to get in and land." He let out a sigh and told himself not to worry. Everything was under control, even if it didn't appear to be.

* * *

The gentle dripping was peaceful. It reminded Sam of a cave he discovered as a child. It was the same temperature no matter the time of year, and moisture almost always dripped from the ceiling. On a hot day, hiding inside was better than air conditioning, but the water falling was a poor substitute for a good pond or lake. A drop hit him in the back of the neck and rolled to the side, and Sam reached up to wipe it away. His collar was wet. For a moment, reality came back to him and he started awake, scrambling away from the source of the wetness, staring at the small hole in the emergency blanket that let in the rain water from the sagging roof.

He pushed it up and let the water run off. Then he turned toward the entrance and realized that the sun was shining again, only the angle wasn't where he expected it to be. He assessed the others in the shelter. Carson napped curled up on his side to Sam's right. Meyer leaned against the bush's trunk, out cold. Michael also slept. A check of his watch told Sam that they'd been asleep for a couple hours. He berated himself for such carelessness. What if the cartel had come back while they were out? They would never have known, and he'd be waking up… where? Given his lack of faith lately, Sam figured it would be some place hot, and it wouldn't be Michael's home town of Miami.

"Hey, Carson. Wake up." Sam roused him first, because the way he was positioned, Sam couldn't move without him getting out of his way.

Carson moaned and muttered something before opening his eyes and looking up at his commanding officer. His eyes widened. "Sir!" He bolted upright and jostled the bush, causing the shelter's roof to shift and grate against the branches. "Sorry, Sir. I fell asleep."

"We all did. Fortunately, nothing appears to have happened." Sam unfolded his legs and crouched as he exited the shelter. Pins and needles invaded his legs and he shook them out as he surveyed the space around them. "That was quite a storm."

"Indeed, Sir." Carson stood beside him, and with hands on hips studied the road. "I don't see any tire tracks, so I think we lucked out. The cartel didn't come back while we were napping on the job."

"Maybe it was a good thing. The sun will be down in a couple hours, but I wanna try to get some miles under our feet before we camp out for the night." Sam used the binoculars to check the horizon. "It doesn't look like our backup team is coming any time soon. The storm probably delayed them." He met Carson's gaze. "Or no one bothered sending one." He shook his head and walked back to the shelter. Meyer was awake, but Michael was still unconscious.

Sam knelt beside Michael and checked his vitals. He didn't like what he saw. The guy should be in a hospital getting transfusions and have surgery to fix that leg, but he was stuck in the middle of nowhere with inadequate medical supplies. He checked the bandages and noticed that Michael's thigh was inflamed. He muttered a curse under his breath.

"It's bad, isn't it, Sir," Carson stated with a serious tone.

"Yeah. He really needs to be airlifted out of here, but that's not gonna happen unless that team gets here." Frustration welled up in him. If he had a working radio. If they had the Humvee. Too many 'ifs' that were useless without something concrete.

"Sir, I have an idea," Meyer said.

"What?" Sam looked up at him.

Meyer replied as he studied the road. "If you stay here with Westen and do what you can for him, Carson and I can hike down the road. I'm doing a lot better, Sir. We could maybe even jog it and get down to the village, get the Humvee, and come back for you."

"You don't know what you're going to come up against," Sam countered.

"We're willing to take the chance, Sir." Carson joined Meyer. "I'm feeling a lot better, really. And hey, maybe the reinforcements are already on their way, and we'll run into them on the trip down?" He smiled and tried to convince his commander with hope in his expression.

"Sir, with Westen's leg that bad, moving him now probably isn't a good idea unless he's going straight to a hospital," Meyer added.

Sam remained silent, still kneeling beside Michael. He rested an elbow on one knee as he considered their plan. He didn't like it. If the cartel came back it would be a bloodbath for his men. But if they didn't do anything, who knew how long it would be before help arrived?

After awhile, Sam spoke. "Okay, but you guys go armed."

"We've got our gear," Meyer said. He held out his hand and refused the side arm that Sam offered. "No, Sir. You need some protection too. Keep it."

"You guys be careful."

"We will, Sir. Take care of Westen."

Sam watched Carson and Meyer take long strides down the road, and he couldn't take his eyes off them until he couldn't see them when their figures disappeared around a bend. He sighed. If he made the wrong decision and it cost his men their lives, he would never be able to forgive himself. It didn't help that they were the ones who pressed it. As a commander, it was up to him what his men did. The decision was made, good or bad, and now he was alone with Michael. Memories of the sandstorm came rushing back, only this time things were a lot easier. He could see all around him with no annoying grit trying to work its way into his lungs. But Michael had a severe injury and he was powerless to do anything about it.

The last thing Sam wanted to do was throw him over his shoulder and hike him back to civilization. That would be a sure-fire way to cause him to lose the leg, if not his life. With no other alternatives, Sam retreated to the shelter, found a cloth and wet it with some of the rainwater to dab at Michael's forehead that was so warm, the moisture disappeared almost as fast as Sam applied it. Michael stirred and his eyes opened, the normally crisp blue irises dull and reflecting the fever raging through his body.

"Sam... where'd everybody go," Michael asked as his eyes flitted around the space and saw that he and Sam were alone.

"They volunteered to go down the road and see if they could get some help," Sam answered with a soft, reassuring voice as he continued to wipe the cloth over Michael's face. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Mikey, you're not doing well."

"Yeah, I kinda got that impression," he said with a small, weak chuckle. He lay his head back against Sam's other hand that cradled his neck and helped him lay flat again. "Man, that leg really hurts."

"I'll give you something for that, and maybe it'll help with the fever a little," Sam said as he dropped the cloth and scrounged in the medical supplies. It held a small plastic case that contained medications. He knew what each one did, so he found what he needed and loaded up a syringe. "I'll just stick that right into your IV. It's faster than giving you some pills."

Michael nodded and threw his left wrist over his forehead. He grimaced at the contact of warmth on warmth, and he let his wrist slide off to lay over his head. "So weak."

"Yeah, you're going to be. Just relax, Mike. You'll be feeling better soon, but until help arrives, you're gonna have to just put up with my meager attempts at caring for you."

The corner of Michael's mouth tipped up. "I trust you'll do the best you can, Sam. I know you."

The words caused tears to sting behind Sam's eyes. He couldn't put a finger on why. Perhaps it was the fact that Michael trusted him more than anyone had in his entire life. They'd been through a life and death situation together before, and it created a bond. Not even time nor distance could break it, and it helped that their careers caused them to cross paths and work together occasionally over the past decade or so. The prospect of losing the man who had become his best friend threatened to bring up a spirit of panic in him. Instead, he watched Michael sleep, keeping the cool wet cloth moving over his body, and praying that help would come soon.

He knew that anything he asked wouldn't have the words or the power of Lucy's petitions, and they would probably fall on deaf ears. After being absent and going his own way for so long and abandoning the faith that his mother tried to instill in him, Sam didn't think God would have much use for his pitiful attempts to save his friend. Besides, he wasn't one to take much stock in prayers in foxholes. This was different, though. Michael's life was at stake, and Sam would do anything, even try prayer, if it would deliver him to safety and get him the medical attention he needed.

Sam left the cloth on Michael's forehead, pressing it to his skin. He settled in beside him, brought up his knees and rested his elbows on them. It was a good vantage point to see who was coming up the road. For a moment he debated whether he should strike the pose and close his eyes, but he did neither. He hoped God would understand if he kept an eye on the road while only his fingers threaded together and the words tumbled around in his brain. He didn't even know what to say, or at least how to say it. Instead, he let it happen and he sensed something that seemed to come to life inside him. Was it hope? He felt lighter, freer, like all his worrying was for nothing.

He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them as the stinging resumed, and the road was blurry as he looked out at it. "We're gonna be okay, Mike," he murmured. "Lucy was right. We're gonna be okay."

The daylight faded and turned the sky a rainbow of deep orange and mauve until the sun disappeared over a mountain in the west. The shadows deepened, but still help had not arrived. Michael regained consciousness long enough for Sam to get some water and a few yogurt covered raisins down, but he soon returned to a blessed sleep. Sam changed the bandages on his leg by the light of a small fire he created outside the shelter, and he shook his head at the sight. It was not looking good at all. If no one came by mid-morning, he would have only two choices. Either he would have to leave Michael behind and go for help himself, or he would take Michael over his shoulder and carry him down the mountain. The question was which would pose less risk for Michael. The other question was, how could he leave his friend behind, defenseless?

By the time Sam's weary eyes gave up the fight and he dozed sitting by the fire hugging his legs, he'd made his decision. He'd been given a promise that everything would work out okay, but he also knew that sometimes you couldn't sit around and wait for good things to come to you. Sometimes you have to go out and grab it yourself. His mother always said that the Lord helped those who helped themselves, but he never was able to find out where that came from. His logical mind, however, believed it and in this situation found it most appropriate.

At first light, he would haul Mike out of there any way he could. A thin smile crossed his lips. He thought he had that figured out too. Until then, he'd need all his energy, so he took advantage of the fire protecting them from creatures in the night, and he kept his side arm ready in case the cartel returned. Sam allowed himself to curl up while sitting and fell sleep. It wasn't the most restful position, but it would do.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Sam hoped that when dawn came he would hear the sound of choppers echoing off the mountains, but he awoke disappointed. He nibbled on some of the snacks in the pack and had a little of the water in the canteen before he roused Michael and gave him something to eat and drink. His skin was hot. Sam didn't need to stick a thermometer in Michael's mouth to know he had a raging fever. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. Still not sure if this was the right plan, he was certain that inaction was worse.

"Mike, we're not going to stick around here any longer," Sam told him.

"Where're we goin'," Michael mumbled. "Ma's worried I'll miss the prom, but she doesn't want me going with Lori Simpson. Ma says she's a tramp." Michael's eyes, bright with fever, locked on Sam. "What do you think, Sam?"

He fought the fearful emotions creeping up inside by pasting on an indulgent smile. "I can't say, Mike. I've never met her." He dabbed the wet cloth over his friend's forehead. The water wasn't cool, but it was cooler than his friend's skin. "I'm going to work on a way to get you out of here and back to the village as soon as I can. Maybe from there we can radio for a helo to come in and take you to a hospital."

"Okay. Just as long as I'm back before curfew. Otherwise, I gotta wait until Ma's asleep. And if Dad's around... I gotta be really careful about sneaking in."

"Of course, Mike. I'll try to get you back before sundown." Shaking his head, Sam left the shelter. He had to work fast, because the fact that Mike was hallucinating was a really bad sign. During the night he remembered Michael thrashing about, causing his leg to bleed again. If Sam hadn't seen the blood on his own pant legs, he would have wondered if he'd imagined it. Lack of quality sleep was taking its toll.

There was no time to rest, however. He had a job to do that began with building a conveyance for getting Michael down the mountain. He used the stretcher and modified it a bit, pulled apart the temporary shelter and covered the stretcher with part of the blanket that he tied in place with some vines he found in the jungle. He tried not to stay away too long and leave Michael unsupervised, in case their enemy returned while he was searching for supplies to make the transportation.

Getting Michael onto the conveyance was another challenge. Sam pulled him to a sitting position, got a shoulder under his midsection, and pulled him up as he stood. Michael's weight shifted, and Sam steadied his legs.

"Ahhh, Sam," Michael cried and his hands clamped onto the back of Sam's shirt. For such a weak man he had a lot of strength, pulling the material tight enough so the buttons dug into Sam's stomach. "That hurts!"

"I know, Mikey. Just stay still, or I'm gonna drop you. Not on purpose, mind you."

"I... I wouldn't think you would, Sammy." Michael groaned.

"Okay, just relax, okay?" He wrapped his arms around Michael's legs and when he felt confident that Michael wasn't going anywhere, Sam turned and took the few steps to the travois. He was pleased to see that the blanket cradled him.

Michael groaned again in relief at being settled again. He threw his arm over his eyes and swallowed hard, sniffled, and swallowed again. Sam made himself scarce to retrieve the supplies while Michael got himself together on an emotional plane.

"Mike, I'm gonna change out this IV and then we're going." Sam changed the bag and tucked it in beside Michael and dropped the gear bag to the side of where he lay. "Just wanna make sure we didn't leave anything behind." His eyes swept the shelter as he kicked dirt on the last of the fire to put it out. Satisfied, Sam took his place at the head of the conveyance, grabbed the rough poles made from branches, and started walking, pulling the travois behind him. He hadn't gone more than ten yards before he realized that this wouldn't be easy. If only he had a horse. But it was all him and he had gravity on his side when the road sloped downward, which he knew could also be a problem.

"I'm getting you out of here, Mike, whatever it takes." Reminding himself of that and thinking about what might have happened if they stayed in one place were the only things that kept him going.

"Sam," Michael called in a weak, rough voice.

"Yeah, Mike."

"My leg's coming off." He reached up and his hand hit in the small of Sam's back. "You gotta stop. We left my leg back there."

Sam peered over his shoulder. He didn't really believe Mike, but there had to be something wrong that his fever addled brain would think his leg was missing. The flesh not covered by bandages was swelling. Sam stopped, let down the poles and scrambled around to his side.

"You didn't lose your leg, Mikey. I just need to loosen this up a little, that's all." Sam worked to relieve the pressure. There was some bleeding again, but not enough to require a tourniquet type tying of the bandages. "Do you want some water, Mike? You should really take a drink."

"Oh... okay." Sam helped him rise enough to get a good swallow, and Michael took it in like a greedy child. "Thanks. That was good."

"You're welcome, Mike."

"That sun is hot," Michael complained.

"Here, put this on. It'll help," Sam explained as he set his ball cap onto Michael's head. For a moment he considered putting sunscreen on Michael, but he didn't want to waste any more time. "Okay, if you've had enough water, I'm going to get moving again."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." Michael lay on the travois, and Sam capped the canteen. He could almost smell the water he was that thirsty, but he needed to conserve it for Mike. He would drink something when they got back to the village or someone came to their rescue, whichever happened first.

If it weren't for his watch and keeping track of the sun's progression, he wouldn't have a clue what time it was. Not that it really mattered. Distance was more important than time, although every hour that Michael's temperature remained elevated or increased meant he was in critical condition. He came upon a plateau that he remembered on their trek up the mountain. It rounded a curve before continuing down again, and at the time he thought it was a fine place for an ambush. Not advantageous for his team, that was for sure. He kept an eye on the bluff that rose above but didn't see anyone on it. In his peripheral vision, he saw a massive old tree stretched across the road.

"Oh, crap," Sam muttered. "There's no way around it."

"Whaaaat, Sam? What did you say?" Micheal tried to look over the travois, but he couldn't see from his point of view.

"There's a big tree across the road, blocking the whole thing," Sam answered as he let Michael down. "Stay here, and I'll try to figure out a way around it."

"You need any help, just let me know," Michael mumbled and closed his eyes.

"Yeah, I'll do that," Sam replied with a soft chuckle. With hands on hips and a critical eye, he approached the tree and checked it from the trunk to the top of the branches. With growing frustration he realized that there was no way. It blocked the entire road.

Finding some sturdy branches, Sam used them to climb to the wide trunk. From that vantage point, maybe he could find a way to skirt it, even if it meant going down the mountainside a little through the jungle. He saw the top of the Humvee and his jaw dropped, followed closely by his frame as he leaped to the ground beside it.

"What the hell is this doing here," Sam muttered as he peered into the cab. It was empty of occupants, and a lot of gear had been stripped from inside. Did his men drive it here, get stuck under the falling tree, and leave it behind? Or was it taken from the village and when stopped by the tree, the thieves grabbed what they could carry and took off?

Sam went around to the back tailgate and opened it. He rooted around in what was left and came up with something that made him grin. Five seconds later the grind and groan of a chainsaw filled the Salvadoran jungle. Sure, it gave away his position. But at this point, even being captured by the enemy would be better than Mike languishing in the sun and heat and dying. They might still die if captured. Sam was willing to take that chance.

He climbed to the top of the tree and cut off the narrow branches on his side, working down to the trunk. It would take a lot of carving, but with luck he could get through it. Sam worked as fast as the chainsaw would allow, sniping away at the trunk like he was carving a sculpture, only not as meticulous.

The chainsaw sputtered as he made it through the trunk and worked on the branches on the other side. Oh God, please don't let it run out of gas before I'm done! He heard the desperation in the words, even though he never put voice to them. He had faith that there would be enough fuel to get through. Sam was never one to believe in dreams and visions, but last night he'd had one that was so vivid he couldn't help but put stock in it as true. He saw him and Mike coming to the end of this journey. There were a lot of guns and noise, but through it all he felt they were safe.

The last branch fell away and as Sam worked on trying to widen the path he created between the tree parts the chainsaw sputtered its last and died. Growling, he tried to resurrect it, but the machine would not relent. It was finished. He tossed it to the side and concentrated on getting Michael through the gap.

"This thing is too wide," he said aloud. "Mike, I'm gonna have to get you through by carrying you again. I'm sorry."

Michael didn't respond. Sam checked and found him breathing, apparently asleep or unconscious. Good time to move him. He lifted him over his shoulder again and carried him to the other side. Then he laid him in the open back of the Humvee and returned to force the travois through the gap by tilting it sideways. It was heavy. When he reached the end, the poles dropped with a clatter to the gravel road and Sam with them. He put down his hands and stopped himself from falling flat. The sharp stones cut the bare skin on his palms and through the khaki pants into his knees. Someone was panting. It was his breath coming short and fast. Sam swiped at his forehead with his forearm and examined the beads of perspiration there.

There was no time to dwell on how he was feeling. The afternoon was wasting away, and if he didn't get Michael help soon, Sam wasn't sure if he would make it through the night. His medical supplies were almost gone, and whoever raided the Humvee took what was in it. All that was left included a few weapons, some ammunition, a handful of grenades, and the radio. Sam dragged himself to his feet and staggered to the driver's side door. It was unlocked, and he got in, surprised to find the key still in the ignition. He turned it, and pressed the radio button. The digital frequency showed in the small window.

Sam smiled. "Well, let's see if you work," he muttered as he picked up the mic. "Hv three four seven b, does anyone copy?" He waited, getting nothing but static before repeating his call. "Hv three four seven b, anyone copy?"

"Hv three four seven b, copy." A scratchy sounding reply came over the radio, and Sam exhaled and fell into the seat back. "Identify yourself."

"Lieutenant Commander Sam Axe," Sam replied. He recognized the voice, but to be sure he added, "Identify yourself, copy."

"Lieutenant Hewitt, Sir. Can you tell us where you are?"

"I'm at the Humvee. Our radio was destroyed. It's just Westen and me. Meyer and Carson went down ahead of us, but I don't know where they are now." Thinking about the two men who struck out on their own rose his anxiety level again.

"Sir, they made it down to the Humvee, and, long story short, they're here with us in the village." Hewitt responded. "They said Westen was hurt bad."

"Copy that. We need a helo ASAP."

"Copy that, Sir. The SEAL team is on standby outside the village on a makeshift helo pad. I'll report to them and they should be there in about a half hour or so."

The corner of Sam's mouth tipped up at the sound of joy in his subordinate's voice. "We'll sit tight, Hewie. Send the chopper."

"Aye, Sir. Hewitt out."

Sam let out another relieved sigh as he put the mic back and leaned into the seat. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds outside around him. Michael's breath rasped in the confined space, causing Sam's eyes to fly open. He tore himself out of the seat and ran around to the tailgate, and he checked Michael's vitals. That chopper couldn't come soon enough. He found a stethoscope in the gear and listened more closely to Michael's lungs which were congested, whether from pneumonia or a byproduct of the infection raging through him, Sam didn't know. All that mattered was his friend was in serious trouble.

Sam pulled himself up onto the tailgate and wet the cloth with the last of the water. That chopper better be on its way. Placing the cloth over Michael's forehead, he pressed it to his hot skin. Then he held onto his hand and was glad that Michael's fingers curled around his. There was nothing else he could do. He glanced at his watch. Sam knew that was a bad idea, because now he would find himself checking it way too often and the time would seem to stand still. Instead, he studied the road as it sloped down the curve. And he gaped at the sight.

Two pickup trucks that he instantly recognized as those belonging to the cartel sat along the sides of the road at odd angles. In one bed he spied something covered by a bloody sheet. He stood and walked to the edge of the plateau and saw two more bodies off to the side of the road. Someone had done a number on them. Judging by the spent casings in the dirt road near where Sam stood and close to a rock outcropping, Hewitt and Seaver had their hands full after the Humvee got stuck. He couldn't wait to hear their report.

"Sam. Sam, are you there?"

Michael's cry sounded so far away, Sam's head whipped around to be sure he hadn't wandered too far from the Humvee. It was perhaps only twenty five yards away, close enough to hear a healthy man. Michael was far from that, and every time he spoke reminded Sam of that fact. As if he didn't need enough reminders. He returned to the Humvee and found Michael's hand flailing like a half dead fish.

Sam grasped it and said, "It's okay, Mikey, I'm here. The chopper's coming, so just hang in there a little longer."

"Good. I'm sorry you had... you had to drag me... far as you did," Michael rasped and took breaks to breathe.

"Shhh, you did the same for me, it was only fair. And besides, it wasn't that bad. Really." The heel of his hand sensed the pulse at Michael's wrist was getting faster and weaker. Where is that chopper? It should have been here by now! A glance at his watch showed that only ten minutes had passed.

Sam was about ready to call on the radio again when he heard the chopper blades in the sky. He looked up and saw the helicopter coming in and slowing until it hovered nearly over them. Sam waved his arms to signal where he was, and the chopper side door opened. A metal basket slipped out the door and lowered to the ground, and a man came down behind it.

"Lieutenant Commander Axe," the man asked.

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Lieutenant Crowder, Sir. Let's get Agent Westen in this basket, and we'll get him to the ship to take care of him properly."

Sam nodded. He wasn't about to take the younger man's words as a slam on his care. He did what he could with the little resources he had. Mike would get far superior care on whatever ship waited out in the Pacific. He helped Crowder carry Michael and lay him into the basket. After tucking a blanket around him and placing the nearly empty IV bag on Michael's chest, Sam gave his friend's hand a squeeze.

"I'll see you later, Mike."

"Yeah. See... see ya later... Sam." He lost consciousness, and Sam's stomach sank.

"You'll have to back off, Sir."

Obeying, Sam stood back and watched the basket rise. His eyes never left it until it disappeared inside the chopper. Then he looked at Lieutenant Crowder. "What about me?"

"There'll be another chopper coming for you, Sir. I'm sorry. We have to get Westen to the ship as soon as possible."

"Of course. Get going, I'll be fine."

Crowder pulled on the rope and he began to rise into the air. "The other chopper is about ten minutes behind us, Sir!"

"Okay," Sam replied and waved.

As soon as the Lieutenant was on board, the chopper took off. For a moment, Sam's insides did a flip. For the briefest second, he wondered if they were really his own people. The chopper headed in the right direction if a ship really was off the El Salvador coast. But he didn't see any Navy markings on that chopper. CIA perhaps, coming to pick up one of their own. A sense of dread filled him, making him feel helpless because there was no way he could follow that chopper now. He was on the ground, and the sound of the blades was nearly gone as it became a small blip on the horizon over the mountains. Ten minutes. That wasn't too long to wait if the Lieutenant could be believed. Sam sat on the tailgate and waited.

* * *

Sam knew it was more than ten minutes. His watch confirmed that it was closer to an hour, and still no chopper came for him. He muttered obscenities to himself as he got into the driver's seat and turned on the radio. "Hv three four seven b to Lieutenant Hewitt, copy." No one answered. "Lieutenant Hewitt, do you read me? Seaver? Anyone?"

"This is Lieutenant Seaver. Is that you, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Yes, it's me, Seav. Where's that other chopper that was supposed to come pick me up?"

"It's down, Sir." Static indicated his hesitation. "They're having engine trouble, Sir."

"Great," he murmured. Into the mic, he said, "What's their estimated time of being in the air?"

"Sir, I don't think they're gonna make it today. We had to send a couple guys back to town to get some parts they're sending over from the carrier." Seaver sounded apologetic.

"So I have to camp out again."

"You can always try one of those pickups left behind on the road, Sir," Seaver suggested. "They seemed to be in working order before we shot up all those guys."

Sam snickered. "I'm looking forward to reading the report on that one, Seav."

"It's a doozy, Sir." Seaver chuckled. "If you can't get the trucks to run, they had supplies on board that you can probably use to get you through the night."

"I'll check it out, Seav. Thanks. Signing off to conserve battery power."

"Have a good night, Sir."

"Thanks, Seav. Same to you."

Sam turned off the radio and walked down the road to where the two trucks were parked. He decided to check the one without the body in the bed first. The keys weren't in the ignition, and Sam couldn't find them in the cab. The sky was darkening and his vision limited in the shadows, so he reached under the dash and pulled out the wires, stripped off the cap, and found the two lines that would create ignition magic. He touched the leads and the engine came to life. Smiling, he twisted the wires together and put the truck into drive. It took several forward and backward maneuvers to get the truck turned around on the narrow road, and with the other truck across from him, it was even more difficult. But Sam got the vehicle turned around heading down the mountain, put it into drive, and turned on the headlights so he could see the road.

He would have liked nothing better than to speed down to the village, but the road twisted and turned at a crazy frequency that would have made attempting it in the growing darkness even more insane. Sam kept his foot from pushing the accelerator to the floor only through sheer will and a fear of plunging over a sudden hairpin curve. As he rode through one of the curves he saw pinpoints of light in the valley. He knew then that he was almost there, maybe another five miles or so. Still, he kept his speed prudent and kept his eye on the road.

Just because he did everything right, that didn't mean that unforeseen circumstances couldn't throw a wrench in the works. Or in this case, a wild boar coming out of the jungle and standing in the middle of the road, eyes wide as the headlights bore down on it. Sam tried the horn as he jammed on the brakes, hoping he would be able to stop before his bumper hit it. There was no way Sam was steering to avoid the boar, not with a precipice to his left. The tires skidded on the dirt and the animal thudded against the bumper and squealed on impact, sending a shiver through Sam's body.

He sat in the truck, knuckles white on the steering wheel, while his heart raced and he wondered how to deal with this latest wrinkle.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Getting out of the truck to assess the situation, Sam drew his side arm and with caution stepped around the open door toward the front of the vehicle. The wild boar squealed and grunted, and he expected to see it mashed into the bumper or lying on the ground thrashing in pain. To his surprise, it stood on all four hooves. It shook itself as if removing the road dirt and began to approach him. Sam backed up a step, then two. The boar continued to move in his direction. He shot at it, warning it to stay back, but the animal must not have understood that signal. It sped up. Sam turned and ran for the open door, jumped into the cab, and slammed the door.

At the same time, he heard rustling in the jungle. He dropped his side arm on the seat and picked up the rifle he grabbed before leaving the Humvee. He cocked it as a group of boars came rushing out of the underbrush and ran across his path. Their bodies low to the ground, all he saw was a mass of darkness as they tore past him. The crash victim blended in, and soon they were across the road and into the jungle, running down the side of the mountain as if it was an everyday occurrence. Maybe for them, but Sam had never seen anything like it before. He gaped into the darkness before getting out again to check to be sure that the boar was indeed gone. Other than a herd of prints in the dirt, he never would have known the critters had been there.

"This has been one hell of a mission," Sam muttered. He glanced up at the sky full of stars. "Just do me a favor and get me back to the village, will ya? And after that, I want a nice, comfortable bed." He sighed. "I'm beat."

Over the low rhythmic rumble of the truck engine, he heard something crack in the jungle. His head swiveled toward the sound as he returned to the driver's seat and settled in. He wasn't about to stay around and find out what other creatures were out in the night. He was almost safe and sound, and he was determined that nothing would stop him from getting to the village.

Thankfully the rest of his trip was uneventful and he pulled into the village in time to see most of the citizens still sat around their campfires, finishing their meals and preparing to put sleepy children to bed. All their heads shot up to take note of the dark pickup, and many held fear in their eyes. Hewitt and Seaver got up from Lucy's fire and approached with rifles ready.

"Hey, it's me," Sam exclaimed as he parked the truck and turned off the ignition. He put his hands up until his men lowered their guns, and he lowered his hands.

"Sir! We thought you were going to have to spend the night up on that mountain all by yourself. We wanted to go after you, but we were ordered to stay put."

"Who ordered you?" A prickle of outrage tingled down his spine. Someone usurped his authority, and he didn't like it.

"Commander Franklin, Sir." Hewitt answered with an apologetic tone. "He's not here, but he called on the sat phone. He said we were supposed to stay here and let the carrier crew find you in the morning."

"Nice. Well, I did all the work for them. I'm here."

"Are you okay, Sir? Maybe we should radio the carrier to send over a medic..."

"No, don't worry, I'm fine." Sam held up a hand to stop him. "What I would like is some water."

"There's plenty of that around here," Seaver said with a grin. "Come on, Sir. Come over by the fire."

The welcome Sam received was not what he expected. Lucy saw him and her face broke out in a wide grin as she popped up from her seat and hugged him. "You're back! Are you okay? You're clothes are all dirty, and bloody. What happened to you?"

"I'm fine, Lucy." Sam extracted himself from her arms and took a seat on a log next to the one where she sat beside a darker skinned man who eyed Sam with suspicion.

"Are you hungry," Lucy asked.

"Not really. I haven't had anything to drink pretty much all day, and..."

"Say no more." Lucy spoke a rapid fire of Spanish words, and one of the villager's sons brought him a pitcher and a cup. He handed Sam the cup and filled it.

"Gracias," Sam said and took a sip. He fought the desire to gulp it down in one motion, but he knew his system couldn't handle that. The kid left the pitcher next to his feet and returned to his family sitting on the other side of the fire. Sam lifted the cup toward them and said, "Bueno."

"Sam, this is my husband, Manuel. He came home today to all this chaos. He wanted to go up the mountain to look for you and Michael after he heard what you were doing, but the soldiers wouldn't let them go."

"Manuel," Sam addressed him. "Gracias."

"You're welcome," Manuel replied with a deep accent, still eyeing Sam but warming up to him as they spoke. "My wife told me how you came to get rid of the cartel. We have never had the means to do it ourselves. They have instilled fear in our village for years, coming down with their big black trucks and lots of guns, threatening to take away our younger women..." He shook his head. "We were powerless to stop them if they wanted to."

"When Hewitt and Seaver brought the kids from the compound, there were two young women with them who said they were their teachers," Lucy told Sam. "When they told us what was going on up there, we realized that they were taken from San Salvador, kidnapped, and made to be more than teachers for the children." She shivered and hugged herself with her arms, and Manuel slipped an arm around her. "Those men were despicable, Sam. I don't think anyone really understood how evil they were."

"Were. Have they all been rounded up? I know I saw three bodies where the trucks were abandoned." He took another cup of water. Its coolness soothed his parched throat.

"We took 'em out, Sir. With a little help from Meyer and Carson." Seaver spoke from Sam's right, and Sam turned his attention to the Lieutenant. "Just about the time they met up with us at the tree, two pickups came up the road with a dozen of the cartel members." He paused as a smile broke across his face. "Those guys never had a chance. They came up on our Humvee and we hunkered down, hidden in the tree branches and leaves. They got close and pulled their weapons, but we were faster." As he told the story, Seaver's face glowed. "Three of them went down just like that, and the others ran for the trucks. They used 'em for cover, and we had a good firefight against 'em, but Hewie and I got behind a rock and we were able to nail them all."

"There were at least a dozen guys. Where'd the rest of the bodies go," Sam asked.

"They were injured, not killed. A helo came and took them away to the carrier for medical attention. No doubt they'll soon be on their way to a holding facility somewhere." Seaver smiled. "The important thing is we completed the mission, Sir."

"You did, and I'm looking forward to reading the long version when we get back to base."

"Yes, Sir. We'll get that to you the moment we return to civilization," Seaver said with a casual salute followed by a yawn he covered with his hand.

"Go on, get to bed. I won't be long behind you." A wave of exhaustion rolled over him, but he still needed hydration more than sleep.

After his men left the campfire and the other family took their kids to their hut, Sam sat alone with Lucy, Manuel, and Benito, who slept in his father's arms. "You know you don't have to stay up on my account," Sam said to them.

"It's okay. I'm still trying to process the fact that you made it back safe," Lucy said.

Sam tilted his head and lifted an eyebrow. "I thought you were the one who told me that we would come back alive and that everything would be okay?"

"I did, and I believed it was true. You did come back. No one in your team died." She bowed her head and admitted, "Sometimes even I doubt, Sam."

"Fair enough." Sam shrugged and stared at the fire. "I don't know about Mike yet. He was airlifted to the carrier, and he was in pretty bad shape the last time I saw him.."

"Perhaps tomorrow you can call the ship to find out how he is," Manuel suggested.

"Yeah." Sam nodded, and he looked at the couple. "Manuel, I'm not sure we would have had as good an outcome as we did if it hadn't been for your wife and her faith."

"What do you mean," Manuel asked.

"I have to admit I wasn't much of a believer, but every step of the way it seemed like something was on our side, something that nobody could control. We should have died up there. We were outmanned and when things went south, we should have seen more serious casualties." Sam took a sip of his water. "Only one thing can explain it in my mind."

Lucy smiled, the expression radiating as much warmth as the fire. "You were protected. Just as I said you would be."

"I'm grateful. I know my men are." Sam's head felt as if it weighed a ton. "I really should get to bed. I'm wiped out."

"Forgive us! We shouldn't keep you up," Manuel said. He handed Benito to Lucy and said, "Come with me. We set up an unoccupied hut for you and your men. Hopefully you will find it comfortable."

"Unoccupied?" Sam approached it with Manuel and studied it. "This place is new. It wasn't here two days ago!"

"No," Manuel replied with a smile. "We were hoping to keep you here for awhile to help protect us from the cartel, so the people built this place for you."

"Wow." Sam was speechless after that, following Manuel inside to find a room where his men were already asleep. The two moved past them and Manuel presented Sam with a room of his own.

"This is for you. Good night, Lieutenant Commander Axe. Sleep well." Manuel backed out of the room and Sam was alone.

The bed looked inviting, a platform covered with a thick mattress and bedding. The quilt was light and he would probably kick it off later, but for the moment Sam didn't care. He washed up at a basin on a stand and undressed, tossing his soiled clothes onto a chair, and he changed into shorts and a t-shirt for sleeping. He blew out the oil lamp and crawled into bed, and not long after his head lay on the pillow, he was asleep.

Only his dreams could interfere with a sound sleep. The roaring of engines and rattling of rapid gunfire, people screaming in Spanish, pounding on the door frame to wake him up... Sam raised his head and noted that dawn was breaking. A slight whiff of air moved past the back of his neck and he realized that this was no dream. Someone was shooting and the bullets pierced the hut, coming within a hairsbreadth of his head. Sam rolled off the bed and stayed on the floor as he reached up to snag a pair of clean pants and a shirt from the wardrobe in the corner.

"Lieutenant Commander," Seaver cried out. "What's going on?"

"I don't know. Get dressed and grab your guns and ammo. We're going out there to protect these people!" Sam didn't bother to put on the shirt. Instead, he left it on the bed and reached for his vest, securing it and following his own orders. On the way out of the hut he picked up the sat phone and dialed.

"Franklin."

"Glad I caught you at home, Sir. The village is under attack, and it's just two of my guys and me. We need reinforcements from the carrier, now!" He held the phone in the crook of his neck while he loaded his rifle near the door. A dark figure ran past carrying an automatic rifle, spraying the hut with gunfire. Sam fired and missed on the first shot, but the second dropped him like a sack of lead.

"Axe, what's going on?"

"We're under attack in the village, Sir!"

"Support will be there soon!" Franklin hung up, but not before the phone fell to the floor and Sam took out another invader.

Sam forgot about the phone or whatever Franklin promised. He had reality right in front of him, at least a half dozen guys with automatic weapons shooting at the villagers and trying to drag the kids away. They didn't seem to care which ones were the orphans and which were the villagers' offspring. Sam saw Benito carried under a raider's arms, screaming for his mother. Sam didn't dare shoot and risk hitting the boy. Instead, he took off after him, taking advantage of the fact that the man was focused on delivering the child to a truck waiting on the road.

"Benito! Beni!" Lucy screamed his name. "Sam, help him!"

Sam didn't reply. The man tossed Benito up to another waiting in the truck, and with surprise on his side, Sam threw momentum into the butt of his rifle and smashed it into the side of the bandit's skull. He went down hard. The one in the truck trained his gun on Sam, but Sam fired first. He fell out of the truck. Sam ran around to the driver's side but no one was in the vehicle. Only the kids were in back, and from the looks of things, most of them had already been rounded up. He returned to the back of the truck and found the two teachers standing before him crying and jabbering in Spanish.

He saw Manuel out of the corner of his eye. The bereaved father was searching for his son. "Manuel! Manuel!" He motioned for him to come over, and Manuel ran through the chaos to Sam's side.

"Benito's on the truck," Sam said in assurance. "I want you to take these kids, and these ladies, and anybody else you can round up, get them on the truck, and drive out of here. Head to San Salvador."

"Yes, I can do that." Manuel helped the women climb onto the truck. Their presence helped to calm the children.

Sam ran back to the heat of the battle. The few attackers who were left mowed down villagers as if they were mere paper targets. Sam fired on them, taking out another two. He heard the breath of someone rushing at him from behind, and he turned as another raider ran into him. He and Sam hit the ground, Sam getting the brunt of the shock. He saw stars for a moment, and then the man pressed the barrel of his rifle across Sam's neck trying to strangle him. Bringing up his knee, Sam caught him in a vulnerable spot and the pressure loosened. He rolled him off, threw a couple good punches, and the attacker was unconscious. For good measure, he rolled the guy over and bound his hands with a zip tie he kept in his pocket.

The shooting had stopped, and Sam heard the whir of chopper blades. In the growing light of day two of them hovered over the village. Sam stood and waved to the pilot of one, just as Hewitt came running with the radio in his hand.

"Sir, Commander Coleman wants to speak with you."

"Coleman?"

"He's one of the leaders of this mission, Sir." Hewitt handed him the radio and stepped back.

"Go check on the wounded, Hewitt."

"Yes, Sir!" Hewitt ran toward the huts where some of the adults lay on the ground.

Smoke from expended ammunition and flash grenades obscured the landscape, but Sam could see many of the villagers were injured by the raiders. His eyes stung. He blinked and spoke into the radio. "Lieutenant Commander Sam Axe, Sir."

"Axe, this is Commander Coleman. What the hell happened down there?"

"I don't know, Sir. A surprise raid at dawn, possibly executed by some of the cartel we didn't know about. All I know is that we've got a lot of wounded down here, Sir."

"We'll send a medical team to take care of everyone. And we'll be sending troops to take the prisoners."

"Thank you, Sir. It's nice to have some backup, finally."

Until order returned to the village, Sam stayed on the ground and assisted wherever someone needed help. Sailors arrived and took the truck of children to a safe place in San Salvador, but not before the parents who were uninjured were gathered up and taken along. Sam hadn't had the luxury of a cup of coffee let alone water to continue to recover from the day before. He was too busy preparing victims for transport to the local hospital. The cartel members who survived were taken to a secure prison where their wounds would be taken care of and they would no longer be a threat to anyone. Hewitt and Seaver came out of the ordeal unscathed, and so did Sam.

"Sir, I have orders to take you and your men to the carrier, where you'll be checked out," a Lieutenant from one of the transports that converged on the village said to Sam.

"Alright. Let's go get checked out, guys." He pulled himself up into the back of the troop transport vehicle and sat on the bench toward the opening. From his vantage point he witnessed the destruction and the patches of blood that polluted the dirt paths and doorsteps to the huts. He shook his head and asked without words for the villagers to return to their homes, that no one would have lost their lives during the fight.

It wasn't a battle. It was a one-sided blood bath. Sam wondered if they would ever know why the small group decided to take on the village. The cartel must have wanted those kids to do their dirty work so bad, they were willing to slaughter a whole village to get them back. Sam shook his head and dropped it into his hands, unable to understand the depravity of some men.

* * *

Sam swore that he'd closed his eyes for only a few moments, the exhaustion taking its toll. He woke up to find himself prone and the sheet underneath him crackled with its starchiness resisting his movements. He looked up at the ceiling and instantly recognized that he was on the carrier, and he turned his head to get a better view of exactly where he was. An IV hung near his head. His eyes followed the line straight to his arm. Oh great, what happened to me? He continued to study the sick bay and discovered that he was in a ward with only a couple other men. At the far end, he saw Michael.

"Mike," Sam muttered and sat up, instantly regretting that move when he felt light headed.

"Lieutenant Commander, you lay back down," a pretty, dark haired nurse scolded him as she rushed to his side and pushed on his chest. "You're not going anywhere until we take care of your electrolyte imbalance."

"Is that what this is for," Sam asked as he lifted his arm.

"Yes. So just lay back there and relax, get some rest." She patted his shoulder and smiled. "You deserve it."

"How's Mike?" He pointed to his friend.

"Mr. Westen is doing as well as can be expected. His leg has been set, but he has a serious infection that he's fighting. As soon as he's stable enough, they'll be flying him back to Washington for some major recovery time."

"But he's gonna make it," Sam pressed.

The nurse smiled. "It appears so. He's a very lucky man, Lieutenant Commander."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Sam muttered as he closed his eyes and let the fatigue and whatever cocktail of drugs they gave him drag him under for a nice long rest. "Don't let them take him away before I have a chance to talk to him." One eye opened and zeroed in on her. "Got it?"

"Yes, Sir." Her smile widened. "If you rest, you have my word."

Sam nodded. "You've got a deal."

* * *

Another day, another mission. Sam got out of the SUV and surveyed the colorful marketplace in the square. He was here to meet Michael, and from the time he left the States until the moment he arrived, he worried that his friend wouldn't be there. Contrary to his instructions, the nurse let him sleep when Michael was transported to Washington and it had been months since he heard anything, and then all of a sudden these orders came down.

"Place hasn't changed at all," Hewitt remarked as he dropped his gear beside Sam's feet and eyed the pretty women passing them.

"We'll have time for that later, Romeo," Carson teased. "Sir, he's over there. Westen."

Carson tilted his head toward a booth in the market, and Sam's eyes roved to the place where he saw Michael looking over some jewelry. As if he could sense someone watching, he turned, saw Sam and his team standing at the curb looking like a bunch of tourists, and he smiled. They waited for him to cross the street and approached them.

"It's good to see everyone made it through the last operation we shared," Michael said with a smile.

"We're a tough bunch, Mikey. It's good to see you walking around looking well. I wasn't so sure for awhile there." The men embraced briefly, then pulled back to examine each other from head to toe. "I almost can't believe it's really you."

"I had it pretty rough there for awhile," Michael told Sam. "Come on, let's go get checked in and I'll buy you guys a beer. It's been six months of recovery, and I'm ready to get back to work."

"Strategy sessions with beer. I like that," Sam said with a smile. "Let's get to it."

The men picked up their luggage and headed for the hotel. Sam watched Michael walking beside him and a little ahead, and he was pleased to see that there was no sign that his friend's leg had been broken. If anything, he walked with greater power than ever. He knew a little bit of the reason they were back in El Salvador, but Mike held the key. Sam couldn't wait to hear what they would be doing, and working together was the icing on the cake. Maybe some day, when Sam was retired from the Navy and Michael got tired of the CIA, they could work together on something. God knew they were a great team. Why else would they still be breathing and scraping through one thing after another?

"Sam," Michael spoke and turned to face him. "Have you heard anything about what happened to Lucy and the people in her village?"

"After I was released by the docs, I had some leave saved up. I came back here, and I went to the village. It was a mess, Mike," Sam told him, his brow furrowed as he remembered what he'd seen. "There were a lot of injuries, but miraculously, nobody died. They just needed a lot of help rebuilding what had been destroyed."

"So they put you to work, huh?" Michael grinned.

"Yeah. It was good work, though. After all they did to help us, it was the least I could do." He smirked. "Reynoldo was pretty upset about his truck, but I took care of that, too."

Michael suggested with a smile, "Maybe if we have time after our mission we can drop in for a visit."

"That would be great. But we've gotta finish the mission first."

"We will." Michael nodded, confident that they would again be successful in the jungles of El Salvador.

"Alright," Meyer said as they entered the hotel. "Let's drop this stuff off and get down to business."

"That's right," Carson quipped. "We left some senoritas at the bar last time we were here."

Get down to business. Michael and Sam glanced at each other and smiled. The other team members' ideas were different than what the friends had in mind, but for tonight, it sounded good to both of them.


End file.
